Stuff n Nonsense Silly Rhymes

All doggies go to heaven or so I've been told. They run and play along the streets of Gold. Why is heaven such a doggie-delight? Why, because there's not a single cat in sight It describes humans as dogs, and obstacles, problems, etc. When I'm old and mankey, I'll never use a hanky. I'll wee on plants and soil my pants. I once knew a man who lived in a jar. For a stranger sight you'd have to go far. I asked him once why he lived in a jar. He grimaced and said, how bizarre you are. Tinkle, Tinkle little car How I wonder what you are.

Leaking oil every day Oh my beloved belly button. The squidgy ring in my midriff mutton. Your mystery is such tricky stuff: Why are you so full of fluff? I didn't go to church today, I trust the Lord to understand. The surf was swirling blue and white, The children swirling on the sand. Oh, dear, Oh, my gosh, I hope that no one saw, I wish that I could laugh, Raindrops on this page Wind blows my paper away Oh crap!

A mime make a rhyme? The entire 8th grade. Mountain time can be quite useful. I had no idea that chortle was a Caroll invention, a combination of snort and chuckle. One of the funniest, sweetest things I've seen since moving to NZ was an adorable group of local schoolkids singing "Oh Susannah" halfway around the world from its setting: It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry.

The sun so hot, I froze to death. Susannah, don't you cry. And their diction was so precise "I'm going to Lou-ee-see-ana my true love for to see" , it was priceless. Those poor New Zealanders and they're crazy English. It's "Loo-zi-anna" of course. A Few Lines by Groucho Marx Did you ever sit and ponder as you walk along the strand, That life's a bitter battle at the best; And if you only knew it and would lend a helping hand, Then every man can meet the final test.

The world is but a stage, my friend, And life is but a game; And how you play is all that matters in the end. For whether a man is right or wrong, A woman gets the blame; And your mother is your dog's best friend. Then up came mighty Casey and strode up to the bat, And Sheridan was fifty miles away.

Two dead boys got up to fight | MetaFilter

For it takes a heap of loving to make a home like that, On the road where the flying fishes play. So be a real-life Pagliacc' and laugh, clown, laugh. Methinks I shall dive back in for more! I'm having a hard time finding a full copy of either the medieval French original or an English translation, but perhaps Villon's "Ballad of Contradictions" translated into German as "Die Ballade von den Vogelfreien" is an appropriate medieval ancestor of those sorts of poems: Nichts scheint mir sichrer als das nie Gewisse, nichts sonnenklarer als die schwarze Nacht.

Ich habe kaum ein Feigenblatt, es anzuziehn Early one day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, Drew their swords and shot each other. A deaf policeman heard the noise, Came and shot the two dead boys. Also, I can't believe no one has mentioned Edward Lear.

My brother's favorite; The Jumblies.

The Jabberwocky in Latin: I was always appalled by the horror of The Walrus and the Carpenter and prefer the charming, melancholic whimsy of Lear's sillibiz, like The Yonghy-bonghy-Bo. And this is a longtime fav by May Swenson, A Nosty Fright The roldengod and the soneyhuckle, the sack eyed blusan and the wistle theed are all tangled with the oison pivy, the fallen nine peedles and the wumbleteed. Then the unfucky lellow met a phytoon and was sept out to swea. He difted for drays till a hassgropper flying happened to spot the boolish feast all debraggled and wet, covered with snears and tot.

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Loonmight shone through the winey poods where rushmooms grew among risted twoots. Back blats flew between the twees and orned howls hounded their soots. A kumkpin stood with a tooked creeth on the sindow will of a house where a icked wold itch lived all alone except for her stoombrick, a mitten and a kouse. They purried away on opposite haths, both scared of some "Bat! Will it ever be morning, Nofember virst, skue bly and the sappy hun, our friend? With light breaves of wall by the fayside?

I sope ho, so that this oem can pend.

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The boy stood on the burning deck, Picking his nose like mad, Rolling it into little balls, And flicking them at his dad. The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo was always my favourite as well. These bring back brilliant memories, especially The Akond of Swat: And the Monkeys all say Boo! And you just cant catch 'em when they do! So its Ning Nang Nong! The mice go Clang! In the land of the Bumbley Boo The People are red white and blue, They never blow noses, Or ever wear closes, What a sensible thing to do!

Napolean was right Bay Rum is good for horses, it is the best in town Purina cures the measles, Just 5 Dollars down Teeth removed without a pain, cost but half a dime And overcoats are selling out a little at a time.

Review of the Day: I’m Just No Good at Rhyming by Chris Harris, ill. Lane Smith

Thanks for the better Akond of Swat link. I hadn't read it before, it's wonderful! Reminds me of Courage. Der Jammerwoch Robert Scott Es brillig war. I've always wanted to hear Mr. Football Movie Guy read that. A modern example of the nonsense lyric: That's the version I knew from childhood. No matter how hard I try I cannot remember where I learned it.

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In our family, there was: I love this link, and it's a great project, but the author is a little bit off in these assertions at the end: One of the things to keep in mind about folk poetry is that it invariably rhymes. This is particularly true of the Two Dead Boys rhyme and readers should understand that variants that include verses with lines that do not rhyme are probably corrupt.

Although they are nevertheless still variants, their main usefulness may be more in their component parts as analytical constituents rather than as definitive verses. First, folk poetry doesn't invariably rhyme; there's little that's invariable about folk material of any kind.

Actually, by presenting examples of remembered material that doesn't rhyme, he disproves that point neatly. Second, it's kind of unusual to call any variant 'corrupt' in folklore -- in literature scholarship, sure, but in folklore the idea of 'corruption' of a supposed pure, original text has generally been abandoned. There are no 'definitive' variants -- once material has entered the folk tradition and become disassociated with its original composer, defnitiveness is over. There are more elaborate and simpler variants, older and newer variants, and sometimes even an earliest appearance, but they're all equally useful as folk texts.

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There's no 'one true' version of the poem or any folk song, or type of folk art, etc. But, in case I sound too critical there, great find and great post. Does anyone have full lyrics from whence this snippet: