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.