(discordant orchestral music)
This is the story of Gerald McCloy
and the strange thing that happened
to that little boy.
They say it all started when Gerald was two.
That's the age kids start talking.
Least, most of them do.
Well, when he started talking,
you know what he said?
He didn't talk words.
He went
(boing-boing)
instead.
(boing-boing-boing)
What's that?
Cried his father,
his face turning gray.
That's a very odd thing
for a young boy to say.
And poor Gerald's father
rushed to the phone,
and quick dialed the number
of Dr. Malone.
Come over fast!
The poor father pled.
Our boy can't speak words.
He goes "boing-boing" instead!
(boing-boing)
(boing-boyoyoing)
(boing-boing-boing)
I see.
Said the doctor.
It's just as you said.
He doesn't speak words.
He goes "boing boing boing boing boing" instead.
I have no cure for this.
I can't handle the case.
And he packed up his pills
and walked out of the place.
(honk)
(beep)
(train whistle)
Then months passed,
and Gerald got louder and louder.
'Til one day he went
(BOOM!)
like a big keg of powder.
It was then that his father said
This is enough!
He'll drive us both mad with this terrible stuff.
(boing)
A boy of his age
shouldn't sound like a fool.
He's got to learn words!
We must send him to school.
From Public School 7 to Mrs. McCloy.
Your little son Gerald's a most hopeless boy.
We cannot accept him, for we have a rule
that pupils must not go
(cuckoo!)
in our school.
Your boy will go
(boing)
all his life, I'm afraid.
Sincerely yours, Fanny Schultz,
teacher, first grade.
But as little Gerald grew older,
he found when a fella goes
(beep-beep)
no one wants him around.
When a fella goes
(boing-boing)
he can't have any pals.
And his
(clang-clang-clang-clang)
frightened the gals.
Nyah-nyah!
They all shouted.
Your name's not McCloy!
You're Gerald McBoing-Boing,
the noisemaking boy!
(awooga)
(honk)
(beep-beep)
Stop!
Aren't you Gerald McBoing-Boing,
the lad who makes squeaks?
My boy, I have searched for you many long weeks.
I can make you the most famous lad in the nation,
for I own the
(ding-DING-Ding!)
radio station.
I need a smart fellow to make all the sounds,
who can bark like a dog
(woof-woof-woof)
and bay like the hounds.
(awooo!)
Your gong is terrific.
Your toot is inspired.
(gong-toot)
Quick, come to
(ding-DING-Ding!)
McBoing-Boing, you're hired!
(orchestra warming up)
The Dalton gang stuck up the stagecoach this noon,
and the varmints are holed up in Fancy's Saloon.
The sheriff can't get at 'em.
Not even the law
knows how to beat 23 men to the draw.
Now, hold on there, pardner.
One fella knows how.
It's Silent Sam Steelheart,
and here he comes now!
(dramatic chord)
(gallop-gallop-gallop)
(neeeeeiiiiiighhh!)
(spurs jingling)
(footsteps echoing)
(saloon doors squeaking)
(footsteps echoing)
(pow-pow-pow!)
(glass breaking)
(bullet ricocheting)
(thump)
(footsteps echoing)
(saloon doors squeaking)
(footsteps echoing)
(neiiiiighhhh!)
(gallop-gallop-gallop)
(applause)
Now his parents, proud parents,
are able to boast that their Gerald's
(awoooooga!)
is known coast to coast.
Now Gerald is rich.
He has friends.
He's well fed.
'Cause he doesn't speak words.
He goes
(boing-boing)
instead.