Do not shoot, little boy, at the squirrels and birds,
Do not shoot, little boy, from that slingshot of yours,
Do not shoot, little boy, find a different thrill,
Do not shoot, these are living things that you kill.
You hung out at the range, where they said you were great,
You shot lying or sitting or standing up straight,
You could hit any target completely at will,
And people exclaimed, "The kid has got skill!"

Do not shoot, little boy, do not shoot!
Do not shoot, little boy, do not shoot!

He signed up with the army, as he'd dreamed to since birth,
And was sent to a war-stricken spot of the earth,
But when he came home, he stopped shooting for good,
And stayed as far from the range as he could,
And when anyone spoke of his soldiering time,
He would drown his conscience in bottles of wine.
He'd remember that boy who had stood on his knees,
He'd remember that boy who'd been begging him, "Please,

Do not shoot, mister, please, do not shoot!
Do not shoot, mister, please, do not shoot!"