The Snail

Little snail, little snail,
With your hard, stony bed,
First stick out your horns,
Then stick out your head.

Your father and mother
Have brought you some food,
Fried liver and mutton,
Now isn't that good?

And now, little snail,
Just as sure as I say
You must eat it at once,
Or I'll take it away.

Oh where is the little snail gone, I pray tell?
He has drawn himself up, head and horns, in his shell.