*"I wish I was a little bar of soap.
Oh, I wish I was a little bar of soap.
I’d go slippy and a slidey
over everybody’s hinie.
Oh, I wish I was a little bar of soap.
Boop! Boop!"*
No matter the song, my father would always add a “Boop! Boop!” to the end. This was especially embarrassing when he favored Christmas party guests with carols.
Now I add a “Boop! Boop!” to the end of all the songs I sing to my son!
Paternal affectations gone amuck?
“Boop boop” is a cousin of the Smiley.
Maybe your inner child is trying to tell you something?
“Hey, Scottie, c’mon, bro… what’s up with this ‘anti-smiley’ thing? Remember how much fun they were, playing with th’ gang?”
(I resisted putting an actual smiley here, just for you, Chief)
My dad doesn’t have a particular song, but he whistles and hums his own songs all of the time. And they’re not entertaining to others in the least, only to him. My mom actually sings other people’s music, mostly Patsy Cline and Elvis. What this reminds me of more is a couple of old teachers.
My one teacher always used to sing:
“Old MacDonald had a farm,
Then he sold it to me.
Now it’s part of my property.”
And that was it, over and over. My driving instructor almost as bad, always singing of a red rubber ball bouncing along. Again, his own invention.
My dad used to put us between his knees, rock us back and forth and sing:
“The camels are coming,
hoo-ray hoo-rah.
The camels are coming,
hoo-ray hoo-rah!”
I have no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean…
I always sang “Tu La Ru La Ru La” and Peter Paul and Mary’s “Shoo La Roo”(or whatever it was called) to put the kids to sleep.
Soon you guys will be singing I’m my own grandpa…
Were you serious or facetious when you said you didn’t know what he meant?
Chief, my ukelele-playing dad used to sing that same song for us, except he sang:
“I would slip and I would slide
over everybody’s hide.”
Another dad favorite:
"Last night as I laid on my pillow
Last night as I laid on my bed
I stuck my feet out the window
Next morning my neighbors were dead
Bring back, bring back,
Bring back my neighbors to me, to me…"
My dad used to sing that song about the worms crawling in your snout. I have blissfully forgotten the words.
Did anyone’s dad actually have a good singing voice? Mine did not. Oh boy. But he’d sing anyway, until the dog started howling.
My Dad had a great singing voice and taught me the words for this immortal song:
Yeha, I know, sick but I thought it was hilarious…
Thanks, xploder. I just heaved my scrambled eggs.
And I hope you haven’t sung your children to sleep with any of the stuff you & MrPersephone were singing last night. Yikes! 
Nah, but I DO play my Zappa cd’s quite a bit for the edification of their young ears. Ah, yes…
Pappa flodnak used to let lose with snatches of actual Hit Parade tunes of his youth, mostly novelty songs. “Oh the freight train runs through the middle of the house…” “Gimme forty acres and I’ll turn this rig around…” “It’s springtime in [damn, forget where], and it’s forty four below…” Then there were the immortal masterpieces like “'Twas midnight on the ocean, not a streetcar was in sight…” and, of course, the genius of Spike Jones (complete with improvised sound effects). Oh, and the odd radio commercial: “Miller… High Life… Miller… High Life… The champagne of bo-hottled beeer…” “Pepsi Cola hits the spot, Twelve full ounces, that’s a lot. Twice as much for a nickel too. Pepsi Cola is the drink for you.”
What am I saying “used to”? I saw him just last month (we live on separate continents now) and he was still at it. I think the effect would be spoiled if his vocal chords were capable of staying in tune.
My Dad has a great voice, and he used to sing this classic, which I now belt out whenever I get the chance. ( I have a horrible voice )
*My little girl, you know I love you,
And I love you more each day.
My little girl, I’m thinking of you,
Though you’re many miles away.
I see the lane, down in the wildwood,
Where you promised you’d be true,
My little girl, I’m thinking of you,
And I’m coming back to you.
My little girl, now she got sleepy,
And she went upstairs to bed.
She put her glass eye upon the mantle,
And her her cork leg under the bed.
She put her false teeth upon the table,
And her false wig on the chair.
My little girl, I’d like to love you,
But you’re scattered everywhere.*
HEHE. I love that song!
Nope, my father couldn’t sing, but he never let it stop him. Usually it was the Rolling Stones, most often “Get Off of My Cloud” or “Jumpin Jack Flash”
I still can’t hear Jack Flash without laughing, thinking of my dad singing it and doing the guitar parts:
*da DAAAA dada DA dada DA dadada . . . *
Not sure if they really count as songs, as they don’t have melodies per se, but I think they’re the the rough, non-musical equivalent, as they were all repeated numerous times throughout my childhood, almost ritualistically.
When I was little, my dad used to say really creepy things that seemed to be for my benefit. He had a little dialogue with himself that went like this:
“What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to be a tick-tick bunny.” It might have something to do with his great disappointment with himself over not making anything of his life and getting stuck working for the P.O. I don’t know why he always used to say it to me, though.
He always used to engage me in deep philosophical conversations about what it means when you call someone “Jacks”. As in “Hey, Jacks, what’s up?” That probably doesn’t make any sense to you now, but if it happened to you, it would feel really strange, especially after the twentieth or so time.
These days, he recites a commercial jingle (occasionally in full view of the public) which I assume he got from his childhood. It’s still creepy, though. He could have picked a less threatening product. It goes “To market, to market, to buy Robert’s scrapple. A free balloon in every package!” Damned if I know what Robert’s scrapple is or was, or if he just made the chant up, but if I ever see it I’m going to run like hell.
Oh, the memories… Happy Sigh My Daddy used to sing sometimes, a bit off key, but in a deep voice that just rumbled along and swept you up in whatever silly <or serious> song he was singing. One of my favorites was:
Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, going in the garden t’eat worms.
Great big squishy ones, skinny little bitty ones,
Oooh, how they wiggle and squirm…etc.
or:
*Peanut sittin’ on a railroad track, his heart was all aflutter…
Train came rolling 'round the track…
TOOT! TOOT! Peanut Butter!*
Note to self: NEVER post while hungover and USE THE DAMN PREVIEW BUTTON…
sheesh…
*Oh, I got into the elevator
and I said to the operator:
“I’d like to go to the floor below”
But she said “No.
I can take you the mazanine,
to the roof or inbetween.
But down below,
I cannot go,
No, no, no!
This is not a Basement Car”
ta da ta daa da
M is for the Millions that we gave her.
O is for the Other things she took.
T is what she drinks in the afternoon, and
H is what she drops when you don’t look.
E is for the Enemies she made us.
R is for the Rotter that she iiiiis.
Put them all together,
they spell Mother Country Great Britain, boo boo boo.