Rhymes and Recitations



Mary had a little lamb.
She gave him castor oil.
And everywhere that Mary went
He fertilized the soil.
			-- Michael Doder, (idirect.com) Canada, 1996

A fart it is a pleasant thing.
It gives the belly ease.
It warms the bed and soothes the mind
And suffocates the fleas.
				-- J.A. O'Connor, (zetnet.co.uk) 1996

Mama, Mama, what is that
Sticks out on papa like a baseball bat?
Shut your mouth, you dirty brat!
That's what keeps your mama fat.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 1

Mrs. Woodin made a puddin'
On a Sunday [sunny?] day.
Mr. Martin came a-fartin',
Blew it all away.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 2

A monkey and a baboon
Were sitting on the grass.
The monkey stuck his finger 
Up the baboon's ass.
The baboon said,
"Goddam your soul!
Keep your dirty finger
Out of my asshole!"
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 3

The he-cat sat on a high board fence.
The she-cat sat on the ground.
The tom made a pass at the pussycat's ass,
And the world went around and around.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 5

Father went a-hunting
To shoot himself a bear.
He shot him in the asshole
And never touched a hare [sic].
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 7
	See R.C. Seeger, Animal/American Folksongs for Children {?} 


Charlie, barley, buckwheat straw,
Twenty pinches is the law.
Pinch me now, pinch me then,
Pinch me when I fart again.
	Upshag, downshag, kick, cuff or box,
	Long-eye pull, or pinches, or taps?
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 6

	A taunt, apparently, combining a counting-out rhyme and a forfeit, used when a child farts.

Charley, barley, butter and eggs,
Kissed the girls between the legs.
And when the girls went out to pee,
Charley, barley, followed to see,
And when the girls began to cry,
Charley, barley, rock-and-rye.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 43, No. 44




I've got the shankers
And the blueballs too.
The shankers don't hurt
But the blueballs do.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 8

I've got a girl in Indiana;
She can handle my big banana.
She can whistle, she can dance,
She's got whiskers in her pants.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 9


When a man grows old, his pecker gets cold,
And the end of his pecker turns blue.
When he tries to diddle, it bends in the middle.
Did it ever happen to you?
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 10

If you shit while you're eating,
The devil you're feeding!
If you piss on your dink,
You give him a drink!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 20

I wish I had a load of bricks
To build my chimney higher,
To keep the girls around the town
From pissing in my fire!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 21

Oh, won't you come over to my shithouse?
It's nice and shady there.
The wind blows up around your ass
And tickles your curly hair.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 23

When I was young and in my prime,
I used to jack off all the time.
But now I'm old, I've got more sense.
I use the knothole in the fence.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 24

This is a nonsense rhyme, unless the homosexual practice of the glory hole had spread to small town southern Idaho in the 1920-1950 period.


The country girl is the girl for me.
You can lay her on the grass,
Lift up her lily-white petticoats,
And tickle her on the ass!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 25

Sally went down a new-cut road,
And I went down behind her.
She stooped over to tie her shoe,
And then I saw her hinder!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 26

A song fragment.


Old Balaky Baraky had but one stone;
The hair on his ass was strawberry roan.
Old Balaky, the butcher, had but one nut.
He fucked his grandmother and had to be cut.
He went away and came back in the fall
Married to a woman with no pussy at all.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 27

"Balaky Baraky" is an echo [?] of an older ballad.  File there?  Or at least refer to distaff "No Balls at All."

By the bar, by the bar,
Where I smoked my first cigar,
And the dollars in my pockets rolled away.
It was there that by chance
I slipped it in her pants
And now she's in the family way!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 28

A parody of a popular song, "By the Sea, By the Sea"?


I wouldn't marry old Joe's girl,
And I'll tell you the reason why:
She bloes her nose in the cornbread dough
And calls it custard pie!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 29

From "Old Joe Clark"


May the bleeding piles torment you,
And the corns adorn your feet,
And the itching crabs by millions
Crawl out on your balls and eat.
And when you are old 
And a syphilitic wreck,
May you fall through your asshole
And break your fucking neck!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 30

I asked a little nigger to let me frig her,
But she said, "Wait till the hole grows bigger."
I waited till the hole got bigger,
And in about nine months she had a little nigger.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 31

I fucked her in my dreams;
I listened to her screams.
When I awoke the bed was soaked
For I had fucked her in my dreams.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 32

A limerick gone awry?

There was a woman from Connecticut
Who was good looking from face to butt.
She was a shithouse poet,
Had brains and yet didn't know it.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 33

Listen, listen,
The cat's a-pissin'.
Where, where?
Under the chair.
Run, run,
And get your gun.
Never mind,
It's all done.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 34
 




'Tis a long-haired slut for a wolf hound.
'Tis a spotted sow for a boar.
'Tis a red-headed girl for a son of a bitch.
'Tis a blue-eyed boy for a whore.
Amen.

-- Unidentified New York City correspondent to Alan Steyne, March 30, 1926, in the Canfield collection.

For God made man
And man made money.
And God made bees
And bees made honey.
And God made a rabbit
And sent it through the grass
And God made a dog
For to like the rabbit's ass.

-- Unidentified New York City correspondent to Alan Steyne, March 30, 1926, in the Canfield collection.

Chancres, blue-balls, crabs and lice.
I've had 'em all and some of 'em twice.
But the cock sucker who cuts a whore's price
Is a son of a bitch, by Jesus Christ!

-- Unidentified New York City correspondent to Alan Steyne, March 30, 1926, in the Canfield collection.

The vermiform appendix is a good thing to possess.
Twill make moments of happiness from moments of distress.
Did you ever meet a maiden with a decent reputation
Who has chanced to meet a fellow who is tired of masturbation,
Who is young and handsome also, and he has a husky cock?
The maiden's folks are shortly to receive an awful shock.
There's going to be a basrard in the family! Joy, oh, gloat!
The old man swears to Jesus that he's goging to cut its
	throat.
They rush her to a hospital, the doc takes out his knife,
It costs the old gent lots of dough; it was expensive kife,
But the maiden's rep's unsullied and the world goes on the same.
It's called appendicitis and it saves the girl's good name.

-- Signed "Isosocles," this is in the Canfield collection



It was Christmas on the Island.
The convicts all were there,
Gathered around the table
To eat their Christmas fare.

Up spoke the dear old warden,
And his voice rang through the halls,
"Merry Christmas, all ye convicts!"
And the convicts answered, "Balls!"

Then again up spoke the warden,
And his voice was choked with sobs,
"For that you'll get no dinner,
You goddam dirty slobs!"

And then spoke an ancient convict,
His face hgard, and bold as brass.
"Then take your god dam dinner
And shove it up your ass!"

	-- Canfield collection, no name given

December snow was blowing
Against the prison walls.
"Merry Christmas," said the warden.
The convicts answered, "Balls."

And one old convict added
In a voice as harsh as brass,
"You can take that Christmas pudding, sir,
And shove it up your ass."

	-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

Adam and Eve sat on a rock.
Said Eve to Adam, "I see your cock."
Said Adam to Eve, "Have you no shame
To call my prick by such a name?"

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940









Here I sit all broken hearted --
Jitney out and only farted.

	-- O.E. Stark of Kansas City, Missouri, to Hubert Canfield 2/12/1926

Come all ye Concord Chippies
And hearen unto me!
Never trust a St. Paul's Boy
An inch above the knee!

I trusted one, the son of a bitch,
As you can plainly see,
And he left me in the hell of a fix
With a baby on my knee.

	-- F.R.F. to Hubert Canfield, noting, "The following poem ... was a popular one when I was in boarding school -- St. Paul's, Concord, N.H. -- and was felt to extoll the prowess of the St. Paul boys" circa 1900.

The Old Sport

I ain't got no money, but if I was rich
I'd go dead broke on that son of a bitch.
When he gets started, hell make 'em all itch,
He'll win in a walk, by gosh!

	-- O.E. Stark, Kansas City, Missouri, executive director of the Business District League, January 14, 1926, to Canfield

Coming Home from the Wake

If you go to the wake, I'll tell you to beware.
If you go to the wake, young Roger will be there.
And he'll take you in his arms to shield you from all harms,
In the morning you'll be sorry coming from the wake.

The wake being over, and morning comng on,
Roger took Nellie through the fields of corn.
Said Roger to Nellie, "Let's sit down and have a chat,
And I'll show you the game they call shoot-the-cat."

They sat down on a rock as you may suppose,
And pretty soon Roger began to pull up Nellie's clothes;
Said Nellie to Roger, "Now, what are you at?"
Said Roger to Nellie, "Why I'm going to shoot your cat."

Six months passed by, and three more a-coming on,
Nellie brought forth a charming son.
"We will name it, we will name it, we will name it for his
	sake.
We will name it Shoot-the-Kitten-Coming-Home-from-the-Wake."

And when this young bastard had grown to be a man,
He went down town with his cock in his hand.
And every lady he met, he'd give it a little shake,
And then he'd shoot their kitten coming home from the wake.

-- Orville A. Welsh to Canfield, n.d.

For Ireland was Ireland when England was a pup
And Ireland will be Ireland when England's gobbled up,
So get down upon your bloody knees upon the bloomin' grass,
And stick your dirty English face right up my Irish ass.

-- Orville A. Welsh to Canfield, n.d.

Our Lil

Now Lil taught school when she first went west,
But she guv that up cuz she liked fuckin' best.
'Twas a standin' bet for miles around'
There warn't no man could hold Lil down,
Till over the hill from Mount Cayoot
Come half-breed Bill, the hulking brute;
And as he ambled acrost the squar',
And banged his tool upon the bar,
They all knew Lil had met her fate --
Thar warn't no backin' out that late.
They decided to hold this mill
Behind the shit house on the hill
Where all who came might get a seat
To see the redskin bury his meat.

Lil started out as the gentle breeze
That wafts the skirts 'bout women's knees.
Then she bumped, and thumped, and double-humped
And did things unknwon to common cunts,
But Bill was there at every trick
Jes kep' on lettin' ut more prick.
The grass was burnt for miles around
Whre Lil's ass had touched the ground.
*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*
Only once did Lil miss a pat
And then the half-breed nailed her flat.
They left her skirt and took her drawers
And nailed 'em to the barroom doors
In memory of that plucky whore, Lil
She had her boots on when she fell.
So what the hell, boys, what the hell.

Sent by W. B. Sanders, Jr., of New Haven, Conn., on January 16, 1926, to Alan Steyne; in Canfield collection.

Graffiti

Some come here to show their wit,
But I am here to think and shit.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

Some come here to sit and think,
And some come her to shit and stink.
But I come here to play with my dink!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 19


My bus is leaving,
I cannot linger.
So here goes
With my middle finger.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

Be like Dad, not like Sis,
Lift the seat before you piss.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

Christmas Present

Der next night was Christmas.  Der night it was still.
Der stockings were hung by der chimney to fill.
Nodding was stirring at all in der house
For fear dot St. Nicholas was nix cum crause. 

Der children var dried and put in der bed
And Mutter in nightgown and I on ahead
Was searching around in der closet for toys.
Ve krept about quiet not to make noise.

Die Mutter was bringing de toys in her gown
Und showing her person from up der vaist down.
She have come to der crib of our littlest boy,
Our youngest, der sweetest, our pride and our joy.

His eyes vide open, he peeked from his cot
Und seen everyting wot his Mutter has got,
But he never notice der toys in her lap.
He just asked, "For who is dot liddle fur cap?"

Den Mutter sed, "Shoosh," but she smiled with delight.
"I think I give dat to your Vadder tonight."

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

This is in The Stag Party, a bit fuller version.


Two old whores going down the street,
No hats on their heads, no shoes on their feet.
Too old to fuck, too proud to suck.
Just two old whores, shit out of luck.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940

It gave the family quite a start
When lady Jane became a tart.
But pride is pride, and race is race
And so to save the family's face,
They bought her an exclusive beat
On the sunny side of Jermyn Street.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940, who explains that London's Jermyn Street, "which runs parallel to Picadilly, a block to the south, is still a fashionable shopping street, but, no longer, as it was when this rhyme was composed, a place where very attractive streetwalkers might be engaged."


"What'll you have?" the waiter said
As he stood there picking his nose.,
"Hard boiled eggs, you son-of-a-btch.
You can't put your finger in those."

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940


I used to tickle my grandfather's balls
With a little light oil and a feather,
But the thing that amused the old gentleman most
Was my knocking them gently together.

-- F. Markoe Rivinus, Philadelphia, ca. 1940


Here's to the girl of South Bend,
Who always used a fountain pen.
One day the cork went wild.
Now she's nursing a negro [sic] child.

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 17

See "St. Louis Woman"


Ham and eggs between your legs,
A little bit of gravy;
Your machine and my machine
Can make a little baby.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 18





Limericks

A horny co-ed from Miletus
Was exceedingly fond of coitus,
Till a halfback from State
Made her period late
And now she has athlete's foetus.
				-- F. Markoe Rivinius, Philadelphia, 1940

There was an old woman from France,
Who boarded a train by chance.
The engineer fucked her,
And so did the conductor,
And the brakeman jacked off in her pants.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 11

There was a young man from Chinee
Who went in an alley to pee.
"Mine golly! mine sissy!
My cock it no pissy!
I thinka so maybe clapee!"
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 12

	A variant of this is in The Stag Party

There was an old woman from Wheeling
Who had a most wonderful feeling;
She lay on her back
And ticked her crack
And pissed all over the ceiling!
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 13

Poor old Robinson Crusoe,
He had no woman to screw; so
He sat on  a rock
And played with his cock
And shot it all over the seashore [sic].
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 14

There was a young man from Boston,
Who bought for himself an Austin.
There was room for his ass,
And a gallon of gas,
But his balls hung out, and he lost 'em.
				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 15

There was a young man from St. Claire
Who screwed his wife on a chair.
On the forty-nine stroke
The furniture broke
And his gun went off in the air~!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 41, No. 16


A woman from Sleepy Hollow
Got all of the men folks to follow.
They played with her crack,
But she took all their jack,
And gave the blueballs to them all-o!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 35

A little old man from St. Chester
Decided to tackle his sister,
But all that he packed
Was a wrinkled old sack,
And all that she had was a blister!

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 36


There once was a good from Sheepshit
Who proved to be only a half-wit.
His girl friend he bumped,
And, seeing her cunt,
"My God!" he cried, "I've cracked it!"

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 42, No. 37

There was a young lady from Nantuckett
Who soaked his sore cock in a bucket.
"Oh, never, no more
Will I fuck a whore!
I'd rather have somebody suck it."

				-- Larson, "Barnyard," p. 43, No. 41