Sing, sing,
What shall we sing,
A gate is a capital
Sort of thing.
If you have not a horse,
Or haven't a swing,
A gate is a capital
Sort of thing.
Cry, cry,
Finger in eye,
Go home to mother
And tell her why;
You've been riding,
And why not I?
Each in turn, isn't that the rule
For work or play, at home or school.