Once upon a time there were three little saxes
Who didn't write poems and they didn't send faxes
But they all annoyed the winds with their honkings and hootings
And tempted bassoons to suppress their heads in hessian sackses.
They all had strident friends who were trumpets and tromboneses
(It wouldn't have been so bad if they'd have been on their ownses)
But their volume and enthusiasm in blasting and blooting
Was often enough to perforate your eardrums to the boneses.
They were often very noisy even when not playing brasses
Like those who brag/bray, bleat and boast up at the back of classes
Though not as bad as "timpanists" who cannot play for nutses
Still adept at attention-seeking and perpetrating farces.
They all went shopping for to buy new muteses
But instead they decided just to irritate the fluteses
They were proud of playing out of tune and making ugly noises
And were fond of claiming witches had turned them into newtses.
That's all I know of the three little saxes
Who didn't write poems and didn't send faxes
But there ought to be a law against them getting out of handses
And I'm sure that they all should be paying higher taxes.