I like you, you like me,
Let’s get together and kill Barney,
With a great big shot gun,
We’ll blow off Barney’s head.
Whoops, I think that Barney’s dead.

          -  Jennie, age nine
 

Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Some people say it’s funny,
But it’s really, really yummy!

Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!

Some people say it’s gross,
But it’s really great on toast!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!
Diarrhea – Thpht! Thpht!

                 -  John, elementary school
 

I'm looking over my dead dog Rover
Lying on the bathroom floor.
One leg is broken,
The other one's lame,
The third got run over
By my 'lectric train.
There's no use explaining,
The one remaining
Is stuck in the bathroom door.
I'm looking over my dead dog Rover,
Lying on the bathroom floor.

                    - Nancy, day camp, circa 1969.
 

There's a place in France
Where the naked ladies dance,
But the men don't care
'Cause they chew their underwear.

                    - Kari, Minnesota, mid-1970's.
 

Helen had a tugboat, Helen had a bell.
Every time she rang it, the tugboat went to . . .
Hello operator, give me number nine,
And if she doesn't answer, give me back my dime.
Behind the refrigerator was a piece of glasss.
Helen slipped on it and broke her little . . .
Ask me no more questions, I'll tell you no more lies.
That's what Helen told me the night before she died.

                    - Lindalee, Brownie day camp, Manitowoc, Wisconsin, circa 1959
 

I'm Popeye the sailor man,
I live in a garbage can.
I eat all the worms
And spit out the germs,
I'm Popeye the sailor man, toot-toot!

                    - Hank, circa 1957
 

(Boy's name) and (Girl's name) sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First comes love, then comes marriage, the comes
    (name) in a baby carriage,
Suckin' their thumbs, wettin' their pants, doin' the naked
    hula dance.

                    - Michelle, age six, 1994, Bronx, New York.
 

A boy's occupation
Is to stick his preparation
Into a girl's separation
To increase the population
Of the younger generation.
Do you want a demonstration?

                   -  Lisa, sixth grader, 1966.
 

Milk, milk
Lemonade.
Round the corner
Fudge is made.

                   -  Caroline, Huntsville, Alabama, early 1970's.  "As you say it, you point first to the chest, the groin area, then the rear."
 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school.
We have tortured every teacher, we have broken every rule.
We have thrown away our homework and we hanged the
        principal.
Our school is burning down.

                    - Jim, St. Patrick's Parochial School, Bedford, New York, circa 1960's.
 

Jungle bells,
Santa smells,
Easter's on its way,
Oh what fun it is to ride
In a beat-up Chevrolet-ay!

                       - Kathy, Henry Harris Elementary School, Bayonne, New Jersey, mid-1960's.
 

Jingle Bells,
Shotgun shells,
Santa Claus is dead.
Rudolph took a .22
And shot him in the head.

                    - Randy, age 12, 1978.
 

Lincoln, Lincoln, I been thinkin',
What the heck have you been drinkin'?
Looks like water and tastes like wine,
Oh my god, it's turpentine.

                    - Brooklyn, New York, circa early 1960's.
 

Cinderalla, dressed in yellow,
Went upstairs to kiss her fellow;
Made a mistake and kissed a snake
How many doctors will it take?
(counts to thirteen and adds, "and so on.")

                    - Casey, aged 10, Park Hill Elementary School, Little Rock, Arkansas
 

Please forgive me for being rude,
It was not me, it was my food.
It got so lonely down below,
It just came up to say hello.

                    - Jason, aged eighteen, Queens, New York, 1994.
 

Oh, do you know when the hearse rolls by,
That you may be the next to die?
They wrap you up in a dirty white sheet,
And throw you in a hole about six feet deep.

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout.
Your chest caves in, your teeth fall out,
And the worms play pinochle on your snout!

The pus comes out like whipping cream,
The whole thing turns a sickly green -
You're dead, you're dead, you're dead!
And I forgot my spoon!

                    - Lois, Lincoln Elementary School, South Bend Indiana, 1950's.
 

Happy Birthday to you,
You live in a zoo.
You look like a monkey,
And you smell like one too!

                    - Elissa, Syracuse, New York, 1960's.
 

Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gapher guts,
Mutilated monkey butts,
Chewed-up parakeets.
All this is rolling up and down the streets,
Rolling in a barrel of pus!
I forgot my spoon, so I’ll use my straw . . .
Slurp! Ahhhh . . . . .

                  - Julie, ca. 1975
 

Trick-or-treat,
Smell my feet,
Give me something good to eat.
If you don't,
I don't care,
I'll make you eat your underwear!

                  - Judy, Michigan, circa 1970's.
 

On top of the schoolhouse,
All covered with blood,
I shot my poor teacher
With a forty-four slug.
I went to her funeral,
I went to her grave.
Some people threw flowers,
I threw a grenade.
I opened her coffin,
She wasn't quite dead,
So I took a bazooka,
And blew off her head.

                    - Katzi, age nine, Colebrook Elementary School, Colebrook, New Hampshire
 

Marijuana, Marijuana,
LSD, LSD.
The principal (insert name) makes it
And the teachers take it.
Why can't we?

                    - Brick, Silver Spring, Maryland, late 1960's early 1970's.
 

Joy to the world, the teacher’s dead,
We barbecued her head.
What happened to her body?
We flushed it down the potty.
And around and around it went,
And around and around it went,
And around and around and around it went.

Joy to the world, the school burned down,
And all the teachers are dead.
If you’re looking for the principal,
He’s hanging on the flagpole
With a rope around his neck,
With a rope around his neck,
With a rope, a rope around his neck.

                  - Becky, age eleven; Mark, age nine

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 Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts: The Subversive Folklore of Childhood. Josephina Sherman and T.F.K Weisskopf. Little Rock: August House 1995.

The back cover of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts reads:
Adults my avoid discussing subjects like pregnancy, birth, death, and illness with children, but children are sure to fill in those gaps.  In playgrounds, on school buses - wherever adults are out of earshot - children chant rhymes that explain the unexplained, test authority, and showcase their wit.
The rhymes collected here, gathered by Josepha Sherman and T.K.F. Weisskopf from children and nostalgic adults around the country, say as much about the silences of adults as about the utterances of children.