There was a little man, and he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead;
He shot Johnny King through the middle of his wig,
And knocked it right off his head, head, head.
Three straws on a staff,
Would make a baby cry and laugh.
Multiplication is vexation,
Division is as bad;
The Rule of Three perplexes me,
And Practice drives me mad.
Daffy-down-Dilly has come up to town,
In a yellow petticoat and a green gown.