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There was a little man, and
he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made
of lead, lead, lead;
He went to the brook, and
saw a little duck,
And shot it right
through the head, head, head.
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He carried it home to his
old wife Joan,
And bade her a fire to
make, make, make.
To roast the little duck he
had shot in the brook,
And he'd go and fetch the
drake, drake, drake.
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The drake was a-swimming
with his curly tail;
The little man made it his
mark, mark, mark.
He let off his gun, but he
fired too soon,
And the drake flew away
with a quack, quack, quack.
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