From a father of two daughters, Your good health, mate.
I sang mine to sleep when they were difficult with the most ribald sea shanties. Trouble was, I'd think they were out for the count, each being as limp as a wet dishcloth, and as soon as a head touched a pillow, the eyes would open and I'd be in for another twenty minutes of "cruising round yarmouth" and "blow the man down".
Certainly traditional folk is an established part of both of their tastes. Sing to them, mate, and they're gonners!