Through the iron gate, and he's gone.
See the goslings, the ducklings, the piglets, the lambs he lets out a little sob.
Sometimes he'd still wish that he slept in a cot by his Mum and Dad's bed.
He cry NO. "I'm left here, and I'm here on my own."
Hear the leaves soft lift hush, make him blush.
Pair of welly boots, the crows in cahoots, the eggs on the hob, the corns on their cobs, he let out little sob.
Sometimes he'd still wish that he left, shot through like a bolt into mad heifer's head.
He cry NO. "I'm left here, and I'm here on my own."
Sometimes he'd still wish that he left, shot through like a bull. But NO.
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