A little maid went to market, She went into the town, And all the things she had to buy She carefully wrote down.
The coffee, sugar, tea, and rice— The currant cake for tea, And then she had to reckon up, And see how much they’d be.
She sat her down as she came back, She sat her down to see What they had cost—the currant cake, The coffee, and the tea.
She could not make her money right, And yet, how she did try! She could not make her money right, And oh! how she did cry.
She’s counting still, my dears, my dears, She’s counting day and night, But though she counts for years and years, She’ll never make it right.
She’ll never make it right—right—right, Oh! never any more, Though she sits counting—count—count—count, Till she is ninety-four.