His aim then he took, His skill was not good, Or he shot in a fright; For the Cuckoo he miss'd, But Cock Robin he kill'd! And all the birds mourn'd That his blood was so spill'd. |
His aim then he took, His skill was not good, Or he shot in a fright; For the Cuckoo he miss'd, But Cock Robin he kill'd! And all the birds mourn'd That his blood was so spill'd. |