My uncle had an ant farm
where he raised a lot of ants.
He taught a few to play guitar;
he taught a few to dance.

Another one, or maybe two,
he tutored on the ant kazoo.
He bought them little xylophones,
and teeny-tiny slide trombones,
submicroscopic saxophones,
and itsy-bitsy baritones.
He trained a few to beat a drum,
and all the rest learned how to hum,
until at last they had a band
parading in the ant-farm sand.

And yet no matter where you stood,
or where you put your ear,
those little ants were much too small
for anyone to hear.