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Grandpa Pencil's Little Rhymes

Classic Nursery Rhymes #1

Classic Nursery Rhymes #1

A cat came fiddling

A cat came fiddling out of the barn,
With a pair of bagpipes under his arm,
He could sing nothing but fiddle - de - de,
The mouse has married the bumble bee;
Pipe, cat - dance, mouse,
We'll have a wedding at our good house.

As I was going to sell my eggs

As I was going to sell my eggs
I met a man with bandy legs,
Bandy legs and crooked toes;
I tripped up his heels
And he fell on his nose.

Baby and I were baked in a pie

Baby and I were baked in a pie,
The gravy was wonderfully hot.
We had nothing to pay
To the baker that day
And so we crept out of the pot.

Barber, barber, shave a pig

Barber, barber, shave a pig.
How many hairs will make a wig ?
Four and twenty, that's enough.
Give the barber a pinch of snuff.

Hark, hark, the dogs all bark.

Hark, hark, the dogs all bark,
The beggers are coming to town
Some in rags and some in tags
And some in silken gowns.
Some gave them white bread
And some gave them brown,
Some gave them a horse-whip
And sent them out of town

Diddly, diddly dumpty.

Diddly, diddly, dumpty,
The cat ran up the plum tree;
Give her a plum
And down she'll come.
Diddly, diddly, dumpty

Jumping Joan

Here am I, little jumping Joan,
When nobody's with me,
I'm always alone.

A duck and a drake

A duck and a drake,
And a halfpenny cake,
With a penny to pay the old baker.
A hop and a scotch
Is another notch,
Slitherum, slatherum, take her.

A wise old owl sat in an oak

A wise old owl sat in an oak,
The more he heard the less he spoke,
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why aren't we like that wise old bird.

As I walked by myself

As I walked by myself,
And talked to myself,
Myself said unto me:
"Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee."

I answered myself,
And said to myself,
In the self same repartee:
"Look to thyself,
Or not look at thyself,
The self same thing will be."

Little Jack Horner

Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating a Christmas pie.
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plumb,
And said 'What a good boy am I'

There was an old woman lived under a hill.

There was an old woman
Lived under a hill;
And if she's not gone,
She lives there still.

Jolly Boys

We're all jolly boys
And we're coming with noise,
Our stockings are made
Of the finest silk
And our tails shall touch the ground.



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Published by Robin A Cartledge ~ ABN 19 924 273 138 ~ Low Head, Tasmania ~ Contact/Comment