conuly | Ooh, I have an idea!

http://www.amherst.edu/~rjyanco/literature/mothergoose/rhymes/menu.html
Archive of Mother Goose rhymes.

Includes "I had a little nut-tree" which is one of my favourites.

Hmmm... If we mustn't tell Jenn, should you not have.. locked this post or something? Maybe I'm just crazy though :P

Psst... she's supposed to see this. It's my own little joke.

...Head, meet wall. *blush*

http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/farmer.htm (has music!)

And then there's the Longfellow: http://eir.library.utoronto.ca/rpo/display/poem1345.html

You aksed for it. you realy did:
Thsi is the only one i remember that's mostly likely public domain

On top of old smokey, all covered i nblood\
I shot my porr teacher,
With a .45 slug
I went to her funeral
I looked in her grave
Sompeole threw flowers
I threw a grenade
The coffin went up up up upinto the sky
the coffin came down down down smash into hte ground
The tooker her to heave.
She didnt do well
So now my poor teacher
is burning in hell.

I also heatily recomen rohald dharl's dirty beasts and revolting rhymes. wich if they appear on an amazon.com wishlist might even be purchaced.

Use hand motions, carry the bee in your 2 hands, squish the bee, lick the palms of your hand (not really), then act like you're barfing, then point to the other one.

I'm bringing home a baby bumblebee,
Won't my mommy be so proud of me,
I'm bringing home a baby bumblebee,
Ouch! It stung me!

I'm squishing up the baby bumblebee,
Won't my mommy be so proud of me,
I'm squishing up a baby bumblebee,
Ooh! It's yucky!

I'm licking up the baby bumblebee,
Won't my mommy be so proud of me,
I'm licking up the baby bumblebee,
Eeew, its in my tummy!

I'm throwing up my baby bumble bee
Wont my mommy be so proud of me
I'm throwing up my baby bumblebee
Oooh! There's another one!

(repeat if child thinks its the best song in the world)

This is the only clean rhyme I can think of. Everything else was either done better by Andrew Dice Clay or has to do with Michael Jackson and that Pepsi commercial he was in;

There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good, she was very very good.
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

:-p

We used to say this rhyme in elementary school while jump roping. I'm fairly sure it's in the public domain.

Fudge! Fudge! Call the judge!
(Person who's jumping)'s having a baby
Wrap it up in tissue paper
Send it down the elevator
Boy, girl, twins, triplets! (this last line keeps going until the person trips up)

We also had this lovely rhyme to go with a hand-clappy thing. It's sung to the tune of that one rhyme about the lady with the alligator purse.

Miss Suzy had a stink bug, the stink bug had a bell
Miss Suzy went to heaven, the stink bug went to
Hell-o operator, give me number nine
And if you disconnect me, I'll kick your big
Behind the frigerator, there was a piece of glass
Miss Suzy sat upon it and broke her little
Ass-k me no more questions, I'll tell you no more lies
The boys are in the bathroom zipping up their
Flies are in the meadow, the bees are in their hive
Miss Suzy's in the closet, kissing in the
D-A-R-K D-A-R-K dark dark dark!

Hopefully that makes sense. It's kind of hard to transcribe well.

Steamboat. She had a steamboat.

...

And the whole rhyme suddenly makes more sense. I could have sworn it was stink bug though, that's what we always said.

Definitely steamboat. And the ending we used was different, but that's just regional diversity.

I know I know my ma
I know I know my pa
I know I know my sister with the double-d cup bra!

...Extra ending taught to me by cabin mates at camp.

Ring around the neutrons
Pocket full of protons
Fission, Fusion, we all blow down!

Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockleshells, and pretty maidens all in a row.

Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!
Der Vater ~~ist ein~~ hüt' die Schaf'.
Die Mutter schüttelt 's Bäumelein,
da fällt herab ein Träumelein.
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.

*falls asleep*

There was a song that my kindergarten teacher used to play, from a record (back when such things were commonplace, and people still had 8-tracks in their cars), called "The Statue Game". I haven't actually heard that song played in over 25 years now, but I still remember exactly what it sounded like - the singer's voice, the melody, and the words. It has a really haunting melody, actually, and I was always a little spooked by the line "don't move now, and maybe you never will".

Here are the lyrics:

Statue Game by Sandy Tobias Offenheim

Chorus:
Let's play a statue game, no-one move the same
You can run or jump or hop,
but when I say 'statue' you stop!
Have to stand very very still,
don't move now and maybe you never will

But now there's an itch on your head,
Scratch it - that's what I said!

Chorus

But now there's an itch on your nose,
Scratch it - before it goes!

Chorus

But now there's an itch on your finger,
Scratch it - don't let it linger!

Chorus

But now there's an itch on your knees,
Scratch that - oh won't you please!

Chorus

But now there's an itch all over you,
Scratch it - take your time, 'cause this game is through!

Hmm, I can't explain the Hi-Low Chikolo one, I can try, though it probably makes NO sense whatsoever:

Whilst siging it, you have your hands together as if you're clapping and hold the fingertips towards the other persons fingertips. Sort of swing your hands left and right whilst singing, and whenever you get to the words "High" or "Low" you have to hold one hand in the centre, and you both give eachother a high-five in the position. High above the hands for "High" and low-down for "Low".

The song's completely stupid:

My name is High, Low, ChikoLOW!
ChikoLOW!
ChikoLOW!
High, Low, ChikoLOW!
ChikoLOW, High!

You can also substitute the word Chikolow for others with the word low/lo at the end. =)

Gwah! I feel silly, but I tried. Forgive me. :P

The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.

God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with his mood.

I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.

William Butler Yeats