Here is one of the versions my Dad taught me.

In the shade of the old apple tree,
There's a bulldog lives next door to me.
One night it was late,
I got in the wrong gate,
And that bulldog he took hold of me.

Where he bit me I don't like to tell,
But I wish that bulldog was in . . . jail.
You can tell at a glance
Where he tore my new pants,
In the shade of the old apple tree.