One dark stormy night on the top of a hill,
Lived a tiny Gingerbread Man, with an oven and a will.
He cooked all day and he cooked
     cooked-- cooked--
He cooked cookies all night until the moon was completely out of sight.

The little old man cooked trays of dozens for one,
He was all alone but still managed to have fun.
When he went to sleep, he started to dream
     dream-- dream--
He dreamed all night long until the sun shone strong.

On his loneliest day, he baked the most he had seen,
The oven was burning, the flames began to scream.
The tiny old man loved nothing more,
     nothing-- nothing--
There was nothing he loved more than baking cookies as big as the door.

That night, when he went to sleep,
He left a tray in the oven, while falling deep into his dream.
The fire continued to scream, or so he thought
     thought-- thought--
He thought it was fire, but the cookie grew legs and started to go wire.

When the tiny old man woke, he thought he was going crazy,
There were crumbs all over the floor so he thought, "am I really this lazy?"
Before he knew it, he heard someone running
     running-- running--
The giant cookie started running all the way down the hill.