A Diller, A Dollar (1955) (continued)

Jonathan Lighter wuxxmupp2000 at YAHOO.COM
Thu Mar 24 15:07:04 UTC 2005


"Flunk now and avoid the June rush!" was scrawled on a wall at NYU in 1971.

JL

bapopik at AOL.COM wrote:
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Sender: American Dialect Society
Poster: bapopik at AOL.COM
Subject: Re: A Diller, A Dollar (1955) (continued)
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Pg. 111:
Bill Jones is my name,
U. S. is my nation,
Ohio is my dwelling place
And Heaven my expectation.

Pg. 113:
This book is not an orphan, so do not adopt it.

Whoever steals this book of knowledge
Will graduate from Sing Sing College.

Pg. 116:
When I die, bury me ddep,
Tell Taft High School not to weep,
Lay my math book at my head,
Tell Miss Barnes I'm glad I'm dead.

When I die, bury me deep,
Bury my history book at my feet,
Tell my teacher I've gone to rest,
And won't be back for the history test.

I never went to Harvard,
I never went to Yale,
I got my education
At the Hudson Country jail.

Fail now and avoid the June rush.

Pg. 118:
If at first you don't succeed, slide for second.

Many are cold, but few are frozen.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I copied your paper,
And I flunked too.

Pg. 124:
You can lead a horse to water,
But you cannot make him drink.
You can send a fool to college,
But you cannot make him think.

Little bits of nerve,
Little grains of sand,
Make the biggest blockhead
Pass a hard exam.

Pg. 126:
The more we study, the more we know.
The more we know, the more we forget
The more we forget, the less we know.
The less we know, the less we forget.
The less we forget, the more we know.
Why study?

Pg. 128:
Tattle tale, teacher's pet!
Tell it quick or you'll forget.

A dillar, a dollar,
A ten o'clock scholar,
What makes you come so soon?
You use to come at ten o'clock,
And now you come at noon.

Pg. 129:
Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
Oil those brains
Before they rust.

Pg. 130:
April Fool,
Go to school,
Tell your teacher,
She's a fool.

Teacher, teacher,
I declare,
I see Mary's underwear.

Pg. 134:
I made you look,
I made you look,
I made you buy a penny book.

Pg. 137:
Sticks and stones may break my bones,
But names will never hurt me.
When I die, then you'll cry
For the names you called me.

Pg. 138:
Liar, liar, lick spit,
Your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in town
Shall have a little bit.

Pg. 139:
Liar, liar,
Your pants are on fire;
Your nose is as long
As a telephone wire.

Pg. 140:
Birds of a feather flock together
And so will pigs and swine;
Rats and mice have their choice,
And so will I have mine.

Billy, Billy is no good,
Chop him up for fire wood;
If the fire does not burn
Billy is a big fat worm.

Cross my heart and hope to die,
Eat a banana and holler Hi!

Pg. 141:
Fat, fat, the water rat,
Fifty bullets in his hat.

Fatty, fatty,
Two by four,
Swinging on the kitchen door.
When the door began to shake
Fatty had a bellyache.

Pg. 142:
What's your name?
Pudding and Tame,
Aske me again and I'll tell you the same.
Where do you live?
Down the lane.
What's your number?
Cucumber.

What's your name?
Buster Brown.
Aske me again
And I'll know you down.

My name's West,
I ain't in this mess.

Pg. 143:
_When someone says, "Hey!":_

Hay is for horses,
Straw is for cows,
Milk is for babies
For crying out loud.
_or_
Hey!
Straw.
What you can't eat,
You may gnaw.

Pg. 146:
Tonight, tonight,
The pillow fight,
Tomorrow's the end of school.
Break the dishes, break the chairs,
Trip the teachers on the stairs.

No more pencils, no more books
No more teachers' nasty looks.

No more Latin, no more French,
No more sitting on a hard school bench.

Pg. 147:
No more homework, oh what cheer
No more school for the rest of the year!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SPRINTS AND DISTANCES:
SPORTS IN POETRY AND THE POETRY OF SPORTS
compiled by Lilliam Morrison
New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company
1965

Pg. 141: _Come on In_
Come on in,
The water's fine.
I'll give you
Till I count nine.
If you're not
In by then,
Guess I'll have to
Count to ten.
OLD RHYME

_Yes, by Golly_
Yellow-belly, yellow-belly, come and take a swim,
Yes, by golly, when the tide comes in.
OLD RHYME

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SELECTIONS FOR AUTOGRAPH AND WRITING ALBUMS
New York: Charles A. Lilley
1879

Pg. 92:
Love many, trust few,
And always paddle your own canoe.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
FUN IN AMERICAN FOLK RHYMES
by Ray Wood
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company
1952

Pg. 4:
Fuzzy-wuzzy was a bear;
Fuzzy-wuzzy cut his hair;
Then Fuzzy-wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?

Pg. 9:
Chicken in the car and the car won't go,
That's the way to spell C-H-I-C-A-G-O!

Knife and a fork and a bottle and a cork,
That's the way to spell N-E-W Y-O-R-K.

Pg. 30:
One for the cutworm,
Two for the crow,
Three for the chickens,
And four to grow.

Pg. 78:
Joe, Joe, strong and able,
Take your elbows off the table,
You're not living in a stable.

Pg. 92:
What kind of pants does a cowboy wear?
Rawhide pants, 'cause they don't tear.

Pg. 106:
Joe, Joe, broke his toe,
On the way to Mexico;
On the way back he broke his back
Trying to ride a paper sack;
When he got home, he broke a bone
Trying to talk on the telephone.


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