There was a man, a very untidy man,
Whose fingers could nowhere be found
to put in his tomb.
He had rolled his head far underneath the bed;
He had left legs and arms lying
all over the room.
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
This is the end
Of Solomon Grundy.
Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye;
Baked in a pie!
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
Was not that a dainty dish
To set before the king?
The king was in his counting-house,
Counting out his money;
The queen was in the parlor,
Eating bread and honey.
The maid was in the garden,
Hanging out the clothes;
When down came a blackbird
And snapped off her nose.
Ten little nigger boys went out to dine
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine little nigger boys sat up very late
One overslept himself, and then there were eight.
Eight little nigger boys travelling in Devon
One said he'd stay there, and then there were seven.
Seven little nigger boys chopping up sticks One chopped himself in half, and then there were six.
Six little nigger boys playing with a hive
A bumble-bee stung one, and then there were five.
Five little nigger boys going in for law
One got in chancery, and then there were four. Four little nigger boys going out to sea
A red herring swallowed one, and then there were three.
Three little nigger boys walking in the Zoo
A big bear bugged one, and then there were two.
Two little nigger boys sitting in the sun
One got frizzled up, and then there was one. One little nigger boy living all alone
He got married, and then there were none.
My mother has killed me,
My father is eating me,
My brothers and sisters sit under the table,
Picking up my bones,
And they bury them
under the cold marble stones