Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…
…
One bottle of beer on the wall
One bottle of beer
And then through the door
Come ninety-nine more
One hundred bottles of beer on the wall…
From one ginger beer lover to another…
Faygobrau!
I u-lu-lused to play-lay-lay
On my-ly-ly banjo-lo-lo
But my-ly-ly banjo-lo-lo
Got Bro-lo-lo-lo-loke.
I to-lo-look it to-loo-loo
The mu-la-landa shop
But the mu-la-landa shop
Was shu-la-la-la-lut.
To market
to market
to buy a fat pig.
Home again
home again
jiggety jig.
To market
to market
to buy a fat hog.
Home again
home again
jiggety jog.
(I actually sing this to our dogs and bird in the car as we approach home. They get excited.)
For a British tar is a soaring soul
As free as a mountain bird!
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word!
His eyes should flash with an in-born fire,
His brow with scorn be wrung,
He never should bow down to a domineering frown,
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue
His nose should pant, and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame; and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave, and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.
His foot should stamp, and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl, and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash, and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude!
His a-tti-tude! His a-tti-tude! His a-ttiii-tuuude!!!
On top of Old Smokey
All covered with cheese…
I lost my poor meatball
When somebody sneezed . . .
On top of Old Smokey
All covered with blood
I found my poor wolfman
His face in the mud
A knife in his belly
An axe in his head
I jumped to conclusions
My wolfman was dead
I have never heard that one. Bravo!
Rudolph, the disco reindeer
Had some very shiny pants
And every time you saw him
He’d be at the disco dance
All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him, “Queer.”
They never saw old Rudolph
Watching sports or drinking beer.
Then one sorry Tuesday night, Santa came to say,
“Rudolph, with your skin tight pants
Let’s head down to the disco dance.”
Then how the reindeer booed him
And a few were heard to say,
“Rudolph, the disco reindeer
Made Santa Claus turn gay!”
(National Lampoon — 1982-ish)
(This came from George Carlin.)
O beautiful for smoggy skies
Insecticides in grain
For coal strip-mining majesty
Above the asphalt plain
America, America
Man’s shat his waste on thee
And hides the pines with billboard signs
From sea to oily sea
If you visit American city
You will find it very pretty
Just two things of which you must beware:
Don’t drink the water and don’t breathe the air!
Pollution, pollution
They got smog and sewage and mud
Turn on your tap
And get hot and cold running crud
Oh, I want to be in that rhumba
When the saints go over there
OH, OVER THERE!
OH, OVER THERE!
I was born a hundred thousand years ago,
And there’s nothing in this world that I don’t know.
I saw Peter, Paul, and Moses
Playing ‘Ring Around the Roses’
And I’ll whip the guy who says it isn’t so.
I met Adam and Eve before they knew the score.
It was I designed the fig leafs that they wore.
When the apple they were eating
I was in the bushes peeking,
And I swear that I’m the guy who ate the core.
-“BB”-
I’m just a lonesome traveler and a great historical bum
I’ve been this wide world over, from history I have come.
I built the Rock of Ages, it was in the year of One
And that’s about the biggest thing that Man has ever done!
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world below
There is no sickness, no toil, no danger
In that bright land to which I go
I’m going there to see my father
And all my loved ones who’ve gone on
I’m just going over Jordan
I’m just going over home
Ah, come all ye jolly jokers
And listen while I hum
And relate to you the story of
The great American bum.
From north to south and east to west
Like a swarm of bees they come,
Sleep in the dirt and wear a shirt
That’s filthy and full of crumb.
Oh, it’s early in the morning
And the dew is on the ground.
The bum arises from his nest
And gazes all around.
From the boxcar to the haystack
He gazes everywhere
And never looks back upon his track
Until he’s beat a square.
Late last night when we were all in bed,
Mrs. O’Leary left her lantern in the shed.
The cow kicked it over, and this is what they said:
“There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight!”
When you hear those bells go ding-a-ling,
All join 'round and sweetly you must sing.
And when t’verse is through, the chorus all join in:
“There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight!”
Bet your bottom dollar you’ll lose the blues
In Chicago, Chicago
The town that Billy Sunday couldn’t shut down
On State Street that great street I just want to say
They do things they don’t do on Broadway
They have a time, the time of their life
I saw a man who danced with his wife
In Chicago, Chicago my hometown
Bart & Milhouse:
Springfield, Springfield,
It’s a helluva town!
The schoolyard’s up
And the shopping mall’s down
The stray dogs go
To the animal pound!
Bart:
Springfield, Springfield…
Milhouse:
Springfield, Springfield…
Sailor:
New York, New York…
Bart:
New York is thataway, man!
Sailor:
Thanks, kid!
Bart & Milhouse:
It’s a helluva town!