Originally Posted by cayugad

There once was an old man
That lived in the woods
He shot this old flintlock
And they say he was good

But because he would load
From the muzzle each time
He knew he must clean it
And with that he was fine.

He’d gather his patches
His rod and his bucket.
He fill it with water
Where the barrel, he’d chuck it.

With patience and love
He’d clean that old rifle
Using patches and ramrods
He’d push and he shove

Til finally the patches
All came out so clean
He’d then dry it and oil it
Getting just the right sheen

Then the old man would carefully
Place the gun back, where it laid
Admiring the wood
And the steel it displayed

And he’d sit in his house
This silly old coot
Knowing full well tomorrow
Again, he would shoot