There was an old man on a mountain,
Who tried, but couldn’t stop countin’;
The numbers ran out,
But he didn’t pout,
Now new numbers come down from the mountain.
There was an old lady of May,
Who made a small kitten of clay;
It hunted dust bunnies,
And dined on lost pennies,
That happy old family of May.
There is an old lady whose nose,
Can be heard for miles when she blows;
She works as a horn
At the lighthouse to warn
And guide ships by the blast of her nose.