I’m sure there was a verse that started
‘Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school,
We are marching down the corridor, de-dum, de-dum, de-dum’
That’s all I’ve got, but the memory banks are twitching…
There’s an entire Wikipedia page for The Burning of the School, with scholarly citations.
There were no children’s songs I was discouraged from singing, but I grew up in an Irish family, and there were LOTS of songs I learned from the Clancy Brothers and the Dubliners that my Mom didn’t want me singing. Lots of songs about drinking and sex.
At 7 or 8, I was singing “Seven Drunken Nights,” having no idea what it was about (an Irishman comes home stinking drunk each night, oblivious to blatant clues that his wife is sleeping with another man while he’s out).
I asked my son a few years back if kids still sing the “milk, milk, lemonade” song.
He didn’t know it, so I demonstrated (I’m guessing you can guess the gestures that go along with the rhyme)
Milk, Milk, Lemonade.
Round the corner fudge is made.
It was not one of my proudest parenting moments…and the kiddo did not crack a smile.
There’s a place in France
where the women wear no pants.
… But the men don’t care, 'cause they wear no underwear.
… And the men walk 'round with their dickies hanging down.
… And the men wear bikinis, and the women suck their weenies.
*I’m Popeye the Sailor Man, I’m Popeye the Sailor Man!
I love to go swimmin’ with barenaked wimmen!
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man! *
I’m Popeye the Garbage Man, I live in a garbage can!
I eat all the worms and I spit out the germs!
I’m Popeye the Garbage Man!
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man, I live in a frying pan!
You turn on the gas and I burn off my ass!
I’m Popeye the Sailor Man!
I learned this one much later (sung to the tune of “Colonel Bogey”):
*Hitler
has only got one ball!
Goering
has two, but they are small!
Himmler
is somewhat sim’lar!
And Goebbels hasn’t
got any
at all!*
Jingle bells, Batman smells,
Robin laid an egg.
The Batmobile lost a wheel,
and the Joker got away!
Others I recall include “Barnacle Bill the Sailor”:
Who’s that knocking at my door?
Who’s that knocking at my door?
Who’s that knocking at my door?
Asked the fair young maiden.
It’s me and my crew, we’ve come for a screw, said Barnacle Bill the Sailor.
And one whose title I cannot recall:
The cabin boy, the cabin boy,
The dirty little nipper,
He lined his ass with ground-up glass,
And circumcised the skipper.
And there was “Three German Soldiers,” sung to the tune of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”:
Three German Soldiers crossed the Rhine, taboo, taboo,
Three German Soldiers crossed the Rhine, taboo, taboo,
Three German Soldiers crossed the Rhine; they fucked the women and drank the wine,
And they all sang “Sieg Heil, tickle my ass”, taboo.
Given the fact that I’m of a generation where many of our fathers were in WWII, the latter should not be a surprise.
Oh! And another one: “Seven Old Ladies,” sung to the tune of “Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be?”
*Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Seven old ladies were stuck in the lavatory.
They were there from Sunday till Saturday.
And nobody knew they were there.
The first old lady was old Mrs. Flynn.
She prided herself on being quite thin,
But when she sat down, the poor dear fell in.
And nobody knew she was there.*
[Repeat chorus]
*The second old lady was old Mrs. Humphrey.
She sat down and made herself comfy,
But when she was through, she couldn’t get her bum free,
And nobody knew she was there.
*
[Repeat chorus]
And on it goes, through five more ladies. My parents hated it; I loved it.
*M is for the many times you made me,
O is for the other times you tried.
**T *is for the tourist camps we slept in,
H is for the hell we raised inside.
E is for your ever-lastin’ lovin’
R is for the “reck” you made of me.
Put them all together, they spell M-O-O-O-THER,
and, brother, that’s what I’m about to be!
Everybody’s doin’ it, doin’ it
Pickin’ their nose and chewin’ it, chewin’ it
My brother and I really got on my mom’s nerves with that one, though I think it was more due to our repetition rather than the words.
Not a children’s song, but when my best pal and I went to see Mel Brooks’s History of the World Part I, we about wet ourselves laughing at The Inquisition. When we got back to my house and sang it ,it totally pissed my mother off. Didn’t we know how offensive it was?!(no). Just what is so funny about people being tortured? (everything, when it’s Mel Brooks).
Well, there’s all those John Valby parodies and other assorted ditties…
My favorite is “Springtime for Hitler.” I often sing it while I’m working in the kitchen:
Version I heard was from my dad:
Here comes the bride
Big, fat, and wide
Here comes the groom
Skinny as a broom
Also one where she stepped on a turtle and then turtle cried. I think.
The kids on my bus at camp also made up a second verse to “Great Green Globs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts”:
Great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Peanut butter hippo butts
Hotdogs that taste like mutts
Little baby bumblebees flying through my open cuts
Oops, I forgot my spoon.
Both my parents went to camps that had the same theme song, except for the name of the camp. There was one line that went, “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here”. At mom’s camp the kids would change it to “Hail, hail, the garbage pail”, and at dad’s it was “Hail, hail, the gang’s in jail.”
And when “I Believe I Can Fly” came out, the boys at camp had their own version that started “I believe I can die/I got shot by the FBI…”
Marijuana Marijuana
LSD LSD
Scientists make it
Teachers take it
Why can’t we?
Ah, another one just now swam up from the abyss of memory:
From the halls of Lake View High School
To the shores of Bubblegum Bay
We will fight with all our teachers
We will fight with spitballs, gum and clay
We will fight for longer recess
And to keep our desks a mess
We are proud to claim the title
of the teachers’ number one pest
*Tiddlywinks, young man,
get a woman if you can!
If you can’t get a woman,
get a clean old man!
From the lofty heights of Malta
to the shores of old Gibraltar,
can you do the double shuffle
with your balls in a can?
Do your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot?
Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Do they make a rusty clamor
when you hit 'em with a hammer?
Can you do the double shuffle
when your balls hang low?*
Cadence, from when I used to play Army:
*My pack is heavy, my boots are tight,
my balls are swingin’ from left to right!
Left, left; left, right, left!
I left my wife and seventeen men
in fucking position without any rubbers!
Left, left; left, right, left!*
My sister and I used to make up our own songs, about fucking cows, for some reason.
(To the tune of “Let’s Go Fly a Kite”)
Let’s go fuck a cow
Then we shall take a bow
Let’s go fuck a cow
And send it soaring
Up past my underwear
Up where there is no hair
Oh, let’s go
Fuck a cow
We sang:
Mine eyes have seen the burning of the school.
We have tortured every teacher. We have broken every rule.
We planned to kill the principal the next afternoon.
His truth is marching on.
Glory, Glory halleluya
Teacher hit me a ruler.
<variable lyric>
His truth is marching on.
Variable lyrics included:
I chased her through the bank
With a US Army Tank
I met her at the door
With a loaded .44.
I’m sure there were more, but That’s all I can remember.
We also had:
On top of spaghetti
All covered with sand,
I shot my poor teacher
with a red rubberband
I shot her with pleasure.
I shot her with pride.
I couldn’t have missed her -
She’w a hundred feet wide.
I went to her funeral.
I went to her grave.
Everybody threw flowers -
I threw a grenade.