Here's the song we learned 35 years ago and passed along to our children: I was born one night one morn when the whistle went "toot toot." You can buy a plane or fly a train when the mud pies are in bloom. Does six and six make nine? Does ice grow on a vine? Is Old Black Joe an Eskimo in the good old summertime? Oh, loop-de-loop in the noodle soup just to give your socks a shine. I'm guilty, judge; I ate the fudge. Three cheers for old lang syne! I cannot tell a lie. I hocked the apple pie. It's on a tree, beneath the sea, above the bright blue sky. Oh, Easter eggs don't wash their legs. Their children will have ducks. (Quack, quack!) I'd rather buy a lemon pie for forty-seven bucks. Way down in Barcelonia, they jumped into the foamia, And this is all bolognia. Paderewski, blow your horn. (Toot, toot!) This is our most favorite family torture song.
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