Great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts

[jsluder]

On top of spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table,
And on to the floor,
And then my poor meatball,
Rolled out of the door.

[Wombat]

The ultimate schoolboy/girl fantasy short of actually shooting the teacher is recording a song about it. Some of you might remember a late 50s hit by a schoolgirl group called the Bobettes called Mr. Lee. The hit version begins:

One, two, three, look at Mr. Lee
Three, four, five, look at him jive
Mr Lee, Mr Lee .....

It was actually a sanitised version of the song they originally wrote which begins:

One, two, three, I shot Mr. Lee
Three, four, five, I got tired of his jive
Mr. Lee, Mr Lee etc ...

Amazingly for the time, they later recorded and released the 'shooting' version for another label but it didn't do so well.

[oleorezinator]

Or this well-known classic, sung to the Battle Hymn of the Republic (I've heard lots of different regional variations on this song, everyone has their own version):

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school
we have tortured every teacher, we have broken every rule
We made a proclamation to the Board of Education
and that was the end of school

Glory, glory Hallelujah,
Teacher hit me with a ruler,
Shot her at the door with a loaded 44
and that was the end of school

[this was decades before Columbine, so you could sing stuff like that and nobody paid any attention].

So what other sing-on-the-bus ditties do you remember from your school days?

we had a little chant after the song:
no more pencils,
no more books,
no more teacher's dirty looks.
throw the pencils in the well,
tell the teachers "go to hell!"

[missy]

then there's the song we'd sing before going horseback riding:

Blood on the saddle
Blood on the ground
Great big puddles of blood all around
Pity the cowboy
Bloody and red
The old cow pony done (STOMP)
Stomped on his head.

[hyldemoer]

If you don't know any of these songs you:
Were not a girl scout
Were not a boy scout
Or did not attend summer camp

Would you find it hard to believe I was none of above but I yet knew most of the tunes mentioned
plus this little ditty,

I hate Bosco
its full of vitamin C
My mommy puts it in my milk to try to poison me

but I fooled mommy
I put it in her tea
and now I have no mommy to try to poisom me.

Who says culture doesn't work itself down to the proletariats!

[Walden]

I saw a news item that mentioned the words "monkey meat" and suddenly, after more than 30 years this song that we used to sing in primary school came floating up out of the depths of my memory:

"Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat,
Saturated chicken fat

Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
That's what we eat at school!"

When my mother was a child, in Oklahoma, they sang this to the tune of The Old Grey Mare, and instead of "That's what we eat at school," it said "Swimming in Grandma's stew," which also formed the refreain.

[Joseph E. Smith]

We used to sing "my country tis of thee...."...... um, does that count?

[avanutria]

On top of spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table,
And on to the floor,
And then my poor meatball,
Rolled out of the door.

It rolled through the garden,
and under a bush,
When I found my poor meatball
it was nothing but mush.


Speaking of Girl Scouts, I learned this one from a scouting friend and still love it:

Black socks, they never get dirty
the longer you wear them the stronger they get.
Some-times, I think I should wash them
but something inside me says 'no, no, not yet!'

...it can be sung as a round.

[missy]

On top of spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table,
And on to the floor,
And then my poor meatball,
Rolled out of the door.

It rolled through the garden,
and under a bush,
When I found my poor meatball
it was nothing but mush.

But early next summer,
it grew into a tree,
which grew lovely meatballs
all covered with cheese.

[avanutria]

Excellent! I'm adding that to my repertoire.

[bradhurley]

Speaking of Girl Scouts, I learned this one from a scouting friend and still love it:

Black socks, they never get dirty
the longer you wear them the stronger they get.
Some-times, I think I should wash them
but something inside me says 'no, no, not yet!'

...it can be sung as a round.

This one reminds me of a round we used to sing:

There was an old woman from Clyde
who ate too many apples and died.
The apples fermented
inside the lamented
Formed cider inside her insides

And when I was little I made up this nonsensical little verse to the tune of Beethoven's Ode to Joy:

In this world of wild wide women
Why were we what we were?
Windowpanes and wild wide women
Were why we were what we were

[Lambchop]

Years before that, when I started going to school in the town of Ronkonkoma in Long Island, I was taught this one:

From the shores of Lake Ronkonkoma to the walls of New York Bay
We will fight our teacher's battles with spitballs and some clay.
We will fight for no more homework
and to keep our desks a mess,
We will gladly claim the title of our teachers' Little Pests.

...it is to a well known tune but I can't think of what the real one is called.

It's to the tune of the Marine Corps Hymn.

From the halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli . . .

[MarkS]

"Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat,
Saturated chicken fat

Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
That's what we eat at school!"

The version we sang went like this:

Great green globs of greasy, grimey gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat, chopped up baby parakeet,
French-fried eyeballs floating in a pot of blood,
And I forgot my spoon. (I brought a straw.)

I think the variations of this tune are interesting. I wonder if they're regional in nature. Our version went like this:

Great green gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat, little birdies' bloody feet
French fried eyeballs, leftover fingernails
And I forgot my spoon. (but I have a straw)

[rebl_rn]

I was a Girl Scout before I was born (my mom was a Girl Scout leader) so I know all the great songs!

How bout:
The classic sung to Arkansas Traveller

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

I'm squishing up my baby bumblebee
Won't my mommy be so proud of me
I'm squishing up my baby bumblebee
Eww! what a mess

I'm licking up my baby bumblebee
Won't my mommy be so proud of me
I'm squishing up my baby bumblebee
Ohh! I feel sick!

I'm throwing up my baby bumblebee
Won't my mommy be so proud of me
I'm throwing up my baby bumblebee
Ewww! Another mess!

I'm sweeping up my baby bumblebee
Won't my mommy be so proud of me,
I'm sweeping up my baby bumblebee....
Hi mom!
*********

The version of the worm song I know:

Nobody likes me, everybody hates me
I think I'll go eat worms
Big fat juicy ones, little bitty squirmy ones
Watch how they wiggle and squirm

First you bite the heads off, then you suck the juice up
then you throw the skins away
(unless you like them)
Nobody knows how I eat worms
Three times a day

*********

And lastly, (but I've got more!) I'll share my very favorite silly Girl Scout song

The Billboard Song

As I was walking down the street one dark and dreary day
I came upon a billboard, and much to my dismay
The sign was torn and tattered from the storm the night before
The wind and rain had done its job and this is what I saw:

Smoke Coca-Cola cigarettes, chew Wrigley Spearmint beer
Ken-L-Ration dog food makes your complexion clear
Simonize your baby in a Hershey's candy bar
And Texaco's the beauty cream that's used by all the stars
Sooooo
Take your next vacation in a brand-new Frigidaire
Learn to play the piano in your winter underwear
Doctors say that babies should smoke until they're three
And people over 65 should bathe in Lipton Tea
With Flow-Thru Teabags.

[Caj]

The funny thing is that the songs didn't stop when we got older.

One of the silly ones from college had the last verse:

My father peddles opium
My mother's on the dole;
My sister was a prostitute but now she's on parole;
My brother owns a restaurant with bedrooms in the rear,
But none of them will talk to me 'cuz I'm an engineer.

I always sang that one to the tune of the drunken Scotsman song.

Caj
[You know, the one drunken Scotsman song. Ever written.]