 
DRUMMER-boy, drummer-boy, where is your drum? And why do you weep, sitting here on your thumb? The soldiers are out, and the fifes we can hear; But where is the drum of the young grenadier? “My dear little drum it was stolen away Whilst I was asleep on a sunshiny day; It was all through the drone of a big bumble-bee, And sheep and a shepherdess under a tree.” Shepherdess, shepherdess, where is your crook? And why is your little lamb over the brook? It bleats for its dam, and dog Tray is not by, So why do you stand with a tear in your eye? “My dear little crook it was stolen away Whilst I dreamt a dream on a morning in May; It was all through the drone of a big bumble-bee, And a drum and a drummer-boy under a tree.” |
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