To me once said a strange old man
Who are you from a faraway land?
And I replied to his decree
I am Jonathan of 17

He stood and stared into my face
I stared back with much distaste
’Tis a strange name he said to me
Young Jonathan of 17

Why, ’tis no stranger than yours, I ask
For, you speak with a name so masked
My name, he said in kind,
Does not matter at this place and time

Why then, I proposed to him
Should I be scolded for Jonathan
’Tis a plain name of sorts, he barked
He treated the matter like it were a lark

I glared back at this strange old man
Who had insulted me quite off hand
My name is mine and no one shall
Make fun of it, that means you, my pal

And so I raised my bayonet
And pointed it straight at his neck
Now this strange old man who said
Was, at this moment, very, very dead.