Three naughty pigs,
All in one pen,
Drank up the milk
Left by the men,
Then all the three
Fast as they could,
Dug their way out
To find something good.
Out in the garden
A maiden fair
Had set some flowers
Of beauty rare.
Out in the garden
A merry boy
Had planted seeds,
With childish joy,
One naughty pig
Ran to the bed;
Soon lay the flowers
Drooping and dead.
To naughty pigs
Dug up the seeds,
And left, for the boy,
Not even weeds.
Three naughty pigs,
Back in the pen,
Never could do
Such digging again.
For, in their noses,
Something would hurt
Whenever they tried
To dig in the dirt.