Smiling Jack Mack was a whistler's whistler,
Any tune, any time, he knew them all.
We always knew when old Jack was coming,
His well-rounded tones floating soft down the hall.
Always in fashion his cheerful rendition
Of well-meaning flavor to savor, enjoy,
And keep the sweet memory deep in subconscious,
Like that of a child with his favorite toy.
Whistles are cheering
And whistlers happy
Like old Jack Mack as he'd joyfully croon.
Life is too short to deaden with sorrow.
Look to tomorrow and whistle a tune.
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