Wednesday, April 12, 2006
The mother of all gooses - and things of neither rhyme nor reason.
Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his pipe,
and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.
Every fiddler he had a fiddle,
And a very fine fiddle had he;
Oh there’s none so rare,
As can compare
With King Cole and his fiddlers three
Three blind mice,
See how they run!
They all ran after a farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife.
Did you ever see such a sight in your life,
As three blind mice?
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn,
The cow’s in the meadow, the sheep’s in the corn.
Where is the boy who looks after the wheat?
He’s under a haystack, fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I,
For if I do, he’s sure to cry.
Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes sir, yes sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
And one for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.
Little Jack Horner,
Sat in a corner,
Eating a slice of the pie,
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a gun,
And said What a good boy am I.
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of wheat;
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in the heat.
When the pie was opened
The birds began to rock'n'roll;
And this was not a pretty sight
To set before the Cole.
There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile.
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile.
He had a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse
And they all lived together in a little crooked house.
Ring a ring o’ roses,
A folder full of cables,
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!
We all fall down.
... but before we bid the Commission goodbye ...
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