There was a naughty boy

And a naughty boy was he,

He kept little fishes

In washing tubs three

In spite

Of the might

Of the maid

Nor afraid

Of his Granny-good-

He often would

Hurly burly

Get up early

And go

By hook or crook

To the brook

And bring home

Miller’s thumb,

Tittlebat

Not over fat,

Minnows small

As the stall

Of a glove,

Not above

The size

Of a nice

Little baby’s

Little fingers-

O he made

‘Twas his trade

Of fish a pretty kettle

A kettle-

A kettle

Of fish a pretty kettle

A kettle!