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Glory, glory hallelujah
Teacher hit me with the ruler
But the ruler hit back
And the teacher got a smack
And now there's no homework any more.
Those words make absolutely no sense whatsoever but as a 10-year-old it was akin to the most heinous sedition and treason to sing it within earshot of a teacher.
Joy to the world!
The teacher's dead!
We barbequed her head!
What happened to her body?
We flushed it down the potty!
And round and round it goes
And round and round it goes...
Death Cab for Cutie is a Bellingham band. So when they were starting up, they were doing this song for an audience of Western Washington University students at Pete's and later the 3B. Heh.
I remember this from the late 50's and early 60's when I was in elementary school.
Oh yeah, we sang it too in the 70s. Pretty much verbatim to the wiki entry, loaded .44 and all. But you know, I think it's dying out. I had to teach it to my kids; of course, then they taught it to all their friends - we like to do our part to keep the culture intact.
P.S. I love love love this verse of the real Battle Hymn of the Republic:
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free;
While God is marching on.
I sang that one, but this one was always my favorite:
This land ain't your land,
This land is my land,
I've got a shotgun,
And you ain't got one.
If you don't get off,
I'll blow your head off,
This land is private property.
A friend and I made up a song about Geometry, to the tune of O Christmas Tree:
Geometry, Geometry
We'd rather jump off of the roof
Geometry, Geometry
Then do another stupid proof
We take the test, we get an F
Johnny Lee says, "I hate this class!"*
Geometry, Geometry
(no end lyric- we'd just look at each other and shrug)
*Johnny Lee sat to our left, and would, almost every day, say, "I hate this class!" in frustration over something. It wasn't mean spirited- he really liked the teacher, and I think she liked him too. A year or two later, I heard he got stabbed. ::sigh:: Oh, life in the ghetto.
Then there was the song my friend Dan and I wrote about our crazy math teacher, Mr. McKee, to the tune of "Do Re Mi" from Sound of Music. I would write it out for you, but you probably had to know the man to get it.
I had to take proofless Geometry. It was right after my Honors English Class. Talk about contrasts. From Dead Poets Society right to Feeding Time At The Primate Cage. I remember my friend Ralph offered me a pack of smokes to copy my test paper, why I don't know since I sucked at the class, too. Ralph smoked a lot of pot. We got caught and got detention.
Yeah, ThePinkSuperhero, I was reading that stanza, and I got to the line "As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free" and a chill ran right up my admittedly irreligious spine. The blood of patriots and all.
my understanding is that the original in the atlantic monthly read 'let us die to make men free'? there's a clever piece on the battle hymn of the republic on this american life's 'lost in america' episode -- which i think is probably still on their website for the listenin'. it's sarah vowell's most interesting piece, i'm thinking.
I went to a school called Ashgate and we used to sing
"They say that here at Ashgate
The food is very fine
A pea rolled off the table
And squashed a mate of mine
Oh I don't want no more of Ashgate life
Please sir, I want to go home."
Our teacher pointed out to us that it should be "I don't want any more of Ashgate life". Since then I've always been a pedant about grammar.
I just finished working on a cheapo 70's compilation called One Hit Wonders. It included the Grass Roots "Sooner Or Later," which is an excellent song, but the Grass Roots had several other hits ("Midnight Confessions," "Live For Today,"). It's like that TV comp Goin' South which includes songs by Foghat (British), The Band (Canadian), and Grand Funk Railroad (from Michigan). I hate cultural illiteracy.
Second, there's a stock tip company on another floor of this building with the word "Pink," in it's name. When the elevator opens on the waiting room, everything is pink: the walls, chairs, table, there's even a jar of pink jellybeans. Woorking there must be like working in a big vagina. My man Chris works in IT there, and says it's a lot less fun than that.
Three, going out for a smoke a moment ago I saw a young woman coming towards the door, who from a distance was a dead ringer for dame, but wasn't her. I came this close to yelling "What the fuck are you doing here?" But I didn't at the last minute, which is probably a good thing.
I didn't like algebra or other math, but I loved Geometry. Proofs are awesome. I also kicked ass when I got to college and took Logic. And now I program computers.
We had an English teacher, Mrs. Gravely, who was generally referred to as "Blue-Haired Gravely." She was actually a great teacher, but stern. One of my brilliant, nerdy classmates wrote the following song:
Mrs. Gravely, what did you do?
That silver rinse ain't becoming on you.
Don't you know, you should have used shampoo?
And don't it make your brown hair blue?
(You probably have to be a certain age to know the Crystal Gayle song "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue".)
Actually, the one thing I miss doing from school is book reports. Those were fun. And coloring. and kickball. I was really good at kickball in 2nd grade. I was one of the power kickers on Bobby Szylinski's team, who won most of the time.
I saw Dame the other day, and she has webbed fingers now. That's a good way to differentiate. Dig that Eevolution!
There's something kinda charming and innocent about the Southern comp of which you speak. I'm sure they knew what they were doing, if anything, it shows how much the "Southern sound" spread in the 70s. But no Thin Lizzy (Ireland)?
Metachat kickball team? McCarren Park? All summer...
If you're of the drinking type, you're also supposed to drink cheap wine while you throw the ball at people's heads. It's just about the most perfect sport ever.
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Throw your teacher overboard
And listen to her scream
Tra-ra-ra-boom-de-ay
Our teacher passed away
We killed her yesterday
We threw her in the bay
She scared the fish away
And when we pulled her out
She smelled like sauerkraut
Comet! It makes your mouth so clean!
Comet! It tastes like gasoline!
Comet! It makes you vomit!
So buy some Comet, and vomit, today!
(To the tune of 'Alouette')
Suffocation takes coordination
Suffocation a game we all can play
First you take a paper bag
Then you put it on your head
Go to bed, wake up dead
Ooooooooohhh
Suffocation takes coordination
Suffocation a game we all can play
First you take a rubber hose
Then you stick it up your nose
Turn it on, then you're gone
Ooooooooooohhhh
Suffocation takes coordination
Suffocation a game we all can play
Diarrhea
(grunt grunt)
Diarrhea
(grunt grunt)
When you're slidin' into first
And you feel something burst
(Chorus)
When you're slidin' into third
And you lay a juicy turd
(Chorus)
When you're slidin' into home
And your pants are full of foam
(Chorus)
When you're walkin' down the hall
And you feel something fall
(Chorus)
Ohmigod, kickball was horrible if you were a skinny little kid who couldn't kick, throw, catch, or run fast. However, things got a bit better when I discovered that if I waited until the big mean kid had thrown the ball and then stopped abruptly, it would miss my head and go far far into the outfield where another little kid like me would be unable to throw it back.
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
