It’s been raining on and off all day. As I was walking into my building with a friend of mine a little ditty that hasn’t crossed my mind since I was 4 or so suddenly burst from my lips:
After my co-worker stopped laughing at me for being … um … me, I went back to my desk and pondered that song.
Now. I’ve fallen off barstools due to beer, and I’ve rapped my shins on something hard while on gin, and I’ve twisted my ankle after spending time with the Captain.
But bumping my head? Not getting up in the morning? No, ladies and gents, that only happens due to those two evil elixirs, tokillya and whiskey.
Then consider THIS little ditty:
Uh huh. ‘Rolling home’, eh? Like we can’t figure THAT one out :rolleyes:
Then there’s this little gem:
I don’t know about you folks, but every fair I’ve ever been to prominently features lots an’ lots of beer.
It’s a conspiracy to get the little ones to drink, I say!!
I have. I put my musings on my web page a couple of years ago, actually. Here, reprinted with my own permission, is the result of my thoughts.
** Old Songs**
You know, people always say how the music of yester-year was so much more innocent than it is now, but have you ever really thought about the words to these old songs? I’ll give you a few examples
“Ole king Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe, he called for his bowl, and he called for his fiddlers three.”
Clearly Ole king Cole was a pot head. A pipe? A bowl? And the fiddlers, surely only a precuser to Phish and the Greatful Dead.
“Jimmie crack corn an’ I don’t care”
And people will lead you to believe that apathy is a new problem. “A peanut sat On a railroad track, His heart was all a-flutter, Round the bend Came number ten. Toot! Toot! Peanut butter! SQUISH!”
Glorifies suicide
“Someone’s in the kitchen with Dina…Dina won’t you blow, Dina won’t you blow…”
Apparently the kind of scandal that’s rocking the country now has been going on for years…
" She’ll be riding six white horses when she comes."
And this is before the internet, folks! “…give the dog a bone, this old man go rolling home.”
Similar to the above.
“Are you sleeping, are you sleeping? Brother John, Brother John?”
You can draw your own conclusions about this one.
I’m not even going into what the “Jack Sprat” nursery rhyme means…
Rock-a-bye Baby. Did you ever stop to ponder that one? Why would a baby’s parents put the baby in a TREE? “Oh, well, I wish we didn’t have the baby, and it’s before the birth control pill, so let’s just kill the thing!” Or maybe “I don’t want to rock the baby, we’ll just let Mother Nature do it! If he dies, so what?” Or something like that.
Aleister Crowley spent a highly amusing chapter in one of his books on Magick (imaginatively titled, “Magick”) analyzing the occult significance of nursery rhymes. Most turned out to be parables of enlightenment.
He was apparently highly adept in twisting himself about in yogic poses. Among them jamming his tongue so far deep into his cheek that an ordinary mortal would choke to death, and continuing to breathe just fine.