I went in for rabbits and I kept them in a hutch.
I only bought two rabbits, it didn’t seem like much.
Next morning when I looked at them how they had multiplied.
A thousand rabbits jumped right out and all the neighbors cried:
Shut the door, they’re coming through the window,
Shut the window, they’re coming through the door,
Shut the door, they’re coming through the window,
Oh the room is full and won’t hold anymore.
My ‘rithmetic is gettin’ bad.
I don’t know what to do.
I bought a little bunny, then I bought another bunny.
Don’t one and one make two?
Here comes Peter Cottontail,
Hoppin’ down the bunny trail.
Hippety, hoppety, Easter’s on its way.
Little bunny hop hop hop
How your ears do flop flop flop
My goodness me all night and day
You flop your little life away
Life away
You flop your little ever lovin’ cotton pickn’ life away.
When I was a little bitty baby my mama would rock me in my cradle
In them old cottonfields back home
When I was a little bitty baby…
Now when them cotton bolls get rotten you can’t pick very much cotton
In them old cottonfields back home
It was down in Louisiana just about a mile from Texarkana
In them old cottonfields back home
You can’t catch me 'cause the rabbit done died.
Little Bunny Foo Foo hopping through the forest.
Scooping up the field mice and bopping 'em on the head.
Put your right foot forward
Put your left foot out
Do the Bunny Hop
Hop, Hop, Hop!
Dance this new creation
It’s the new sensation
Do the Bunny Hop
Hop, Hop, Hop!
one
two
three
four
Cretins want to hop some more
four
five
six
seven
All good Cretins go to heaven
One two three four
Can I have a little more?
five six seven eight nine ten
I love you
When I get older losing my hair,
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine?
If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I’m sixty-four?
My funny valentine
Sweet, precious valentine
You make me smile
Look out, look out, look out for Jimmy Valentine,
He’s a pal o’ mine, a sentimental crook.
With his sandpaper fingers he can steal the combination of your pocketbook.
Look out, here comes tomorrow
That’s when I have to choose
How I wish I could borrow
Someone else’s shoes.
Turn off your mind relax and float down stream
It is not dying, it is not dying
Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void,
It is shining, it is shining.
Yet you may see the meaning of within
It is being, it is being
Love is all and love is everyone
It is knowing, it is knowing
And ignorance and hate mourn the dead
It is believing, it is believing
But listen to the colour of your dreams
It is not leaving, it is not leaving
So play the game “Existence” to the end
Of the beginning, of the beginning
Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dreams.
I am a traveller of both time and space, to be where I have been.
Sit with elders of a gentle race this world has seldom seen,
Talk of days for which they sit and wait, all will be revealed.
I am just a lonesome trav’ler,
Through this big, wide world of sin;
Want to join that grand procession,
When the saints go marching in.
Oh, when the saints go marching in,
Oh, when the saints go marching in;
Lord, I want to be in that number,
When the saints go marching in.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we’ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness
Rolling down to the sea.
And all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain’t heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train’s got the disappearing railroad blues.
Good night, America, how are you?
Don’t you know me I’m your native son,
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
In 1814 we took a little trip
Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip.
We took a little bacon and we took a little beans
And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans.
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy.
And God, I know, I’m one.