There's a story told of a little Japanese

Sitting demurely neath the cherry blossom trees

Miss Butterfly's her name

A sweet little innocent child was she

Till a fine young American from the sea

To her garden came

They met neath the cherry blossoms everyday

And he tought her how to love in the American way

To love with her soul was easy to learn

Then he sailed away with a promise to return

Poor butterfly

Neath the blossoms waiting

Poor Butterfly

For she loved him so

The moments pass into hours

The hours pass into years

And as she smiles through her tears

She murmurs low

The moon and I know that he'll be faithful

I'm sure he'll come to me by and by

But if he won't come back

Then I'll never cry or sigh

I just must die

Poor butterfly