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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,
To shoot a little duck,
but he chose to save him
Instead, stead, stead.
He took his gun home
To his kind wife Joan,
And bade her a fire for
To make, make, make,
There to destroy the gun
He used in the brook,
Never to remake that
Mistake, take, take.
So he went to the brook
With some bread in a pail,
To feed the little duck
'Til dark, dark, dark.
He went home hoping
They'd meet again soon,
And away flew the duck with
A quack, quack, quack.

from The Humane Mother Goose, B. Freedman and J. Villanueva