INSECT NURSERY RHYMES   

MARY HAD A LITTLE FLEA

        (To the tune of "Mary had a little lamb")

             Mary had a little flea,

             the flea was white as snow,

             and wherever Mary might be

             her albino flea would go.

             It went with her to school one day,

             which was against the rules -

             it made the children scratch away,

             and the teacher lost her cool.

                       CICADAS

        (To the tune of "Peas porridge hot")

             Cicadas shrill,

             cicadas bold.

             Cicadas immature till

             they're thirteen years old.

             Some like them shrill,

             some like them bold.

             Some just don't like them until

             they're thirteen years old.

                      CHA-CHA CICADA

        (To the tune of "Baa baa black sheep")

             Cha-cha cicada, have you any songs?

             Yes sir, three of them, loud and long.

             One for the sunshine and one for the rain,

             and a shrill one especially to drive you insane.

                  LITTLE CRICKET

        (To the tune of "Little Miss Muffet")

             A little cricket

             sat in a thicket

             playing his bow night and day.

             Along came a frog

             and sat on a log

             and frightened the cricket away.

                   LITTLE BLACK HORNET

        (To the tune of "Little Jack Horner")

             A little black hornet

             sat in a bonnet

             trying as a bee to get by.

             It stuck out its sting

             and folded its wings

             and said, "What a good bee am I!"

                  TEENY WEENY TINY FOE

         (To the tune of "Eenie meenie miney moe")

             Teeny weeny tiny foe,

             caught a bedbug, and although

             it stank, I didn't let it go,

             that itchy scritchy scratchy foe.

                  BEETLEGRUB AND BUMBLEBEE

        (To the tune of "Tweedledum and Tweedledee")

             A beetle grub and a bumble-bee

             resolved to have a fight;

             for the beetle grub, said the bumble-bee,

             had spoiled every flower in sight. 

             Just then flew down a jungle crow

             ravenous for a bite;

             it swallowed the beetle grub at one go,

             and that was the end of the fight.

                TWINKLE TWINKLE FIREFLY

       (To the tune of “Twinkle twinkle little star”)

              Twinkle twinkle firefly

              I wonder why you're called a fly.

              Far away from garbage bins

              you seem more like some fairy kin.

              Where no traffic cop has gone,

              where grass has not been walked upon,

              there your green light flashes bright

              like a mobile traffic light.

                  SILKWORM, SILKWORM, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN

        (To the tune of "Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been”)

             Silkworm, silkworm, where have you been?

             I've been to London to see the queen.

             Silkworm, silkworm, what did you there?

             I spun her a silk gown as light as air.

                  THERE WAS AN OLD QUEEN BEE

    (To the tune of "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe")

             There was an old queen bee

             who lived in a nest,

             she had so many babies

             she never got any rest.

             She gave them royal jelly

             to fill up their bellies:

             In a few days she found

             new queen bees around.

                   HONEYBEE FUNNY BEE JIVE

        (To the tune of "Hickory dickory dock")

             Honeybee funny bee jive,

             the bee danced up the hive.

             Its wiggle done,

             the bee danced down,

             honeybee funny bee jive.

                        MY DREAM

         Last night I could not get to sleep,

         at twelve I gave up counting sheep;

         I tucked my head under the sheet

         and put my pillow on my feet.

         What happened then, to you may seem

         like some strange kind of backward dream.

         But I know that it was all true,

         because it was too strange not to.

         I clearly heard a two strike clock

         and all the crows began to cock.

         Mom called, "Get up and teeth your brush,

         and don't forget to loo the flush."

         Then I began to test for my cram,

         while Dad was spreading bread on my jam.

         "Have you clothed your irons, dear?" Mom asked

         while Daddy radioed the play full blast.

         The T.V. showed men boating a row

         and I went off to nose my blow.      

         "Face your wash well!" Mom called out to me,

         while Dad called,  "Quick! Programme this see!"

         A woman came to floor the sweep,

         a spider went walling up the creep.

         I planted the waters and finally

         I schooled off to race happily.

         That day I fooled the play in class,

         the teacher said, "You won't test your pass."

         At lunch I dressed my nice new spoil

         and gasped, "This will make blood's Mama boil!"

         And then I got my muds all handy,

         the teacher yelled at me, "Proper standly!"

         I meekly went to book a read,

         but sneaked away to dog a feed.

         I thought, "Fun isn't always school",

         cupping my hold to milk my cool.

         I was saying, "I can't long for wait"

         when Mom woke me : "Get up, it's late!"

FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS – THE TRUE STORY

                  I do smell a rat – can you tell me why

                  twenty-four blackbirds were baked in a pie?

                  How could it be that those blackbirds could fly

                  after having been baked inside a pie?

                  Why was the king counting money himself -

                  were there no minions to help count his pelf?

                  Why was the queen eating bread and honey

                  if the king needed help to count his money?

                  I tell you all this sounds fishy to me -

                  I wonder what the real story could be.

                  I think it was all a devilish plot

                  to put the cook in a difficult spot.

                  The queen had been wanting to fire her,

                  but was too scared of the cook’s hot temper.

                  So she put all those blackbirds in the cake,

                  but being a queen, didn’t know how to bake.

                  And that’s why the blackbirds came out intact –

                  I’m sure you noticed that important fact.

                  The queen, to give herself an alibi,

                  then made sure she was nowhere near that pie.

                  So she ate bread and honey in her parlour

                  (but in her rush she forgot the butter).

                  The king, who had always had a big grouse

                  against the cook, went to his counting house.

                  There he played his part in the cunning bluff

                  by pretending to be counting his stuff.

                  When the poor old cook cut open the pie

                  and four and twenty blackbirds out did fly,

                  one of those awful birds bit off her nose.

                  The king (whose grammar was poor) said, “I knows

                  a case of grand treason when I sees one.

                  Well, I just doesn’t see any reason

                  why that cook shouldn’t be executed –

                   now she’s lost her nose, what good is her head?”

                  But by the time the king’s head-cutter came

                  (he came very slowly, being quite lame),

                  the unhappy cook had already fled,

                  for she valued even her nose-less head.

                   Granny’s Chickens

         In every nook and cranny,

         under every table and chair

         we searched and hunted for Granny,

         but Granny was nowhere.

         We looked down in the basement,

         we peeped into her lair.

         We checked the window casement,

         but Granny was nowhere.

         We shot each other glances,

         we wrung hands in despair.

         We tried unlikely chances,

         but Granny was nowhere.

         We went round with glum faces,

         we even tore our hair.

         We made awful grimaces,

         but Granny was nowhere.

         We went into the garden

         and looked for granny there.

         We said to people: “Pardon,

         have you seen Granny somewhere?”

         The postman couldn’t help us,

         the neighbours hadn’t seen her.

         The people who got off the bus –

         they hadn’t seen her either.

        Just then a small boy came along,

         looking at something up somewhere.

         He saw us and asked what was wrong:

         We told him, “Granny is nowhere.”

         He asked if Granny’s hair was white,

         and whether her nose was long.

         We eagerly said, “Yes, that’s right!”

         He said, “Well now, I could be wrong.”

         “I could be wrong,” the small boy said,

         “but I fancy your granny’s around.

         You might see her if you look up instead

         of only searching on the ground.”

         The small boy pointed at the roof

         and asked, “Is that your granny then?”

We didn’t need any further proof –

it was Granny all right, with a hen.

Together in one voice we cried,

“Be careful Granny, please look out!”

She cackled loudly and replied,

“There really is no need to shout.”

We pleaded, “Granny, you might fall.

You’re the only granny that we’ve got.”

She yelled, “What’s the matter with you-all?

I’ve never heard such tommyrot!”

“But why are you up there?” we asked,

“and what about the hen?”

Granny laughed long, and then at last

she said, “There’s also forty chickens.”

“But why, Granny, please tell us why!”

we shouted in a group.

She said, “Don’t bother me till I

finish designing the coop.”

“Chickens on the roof?” we howled.

“But Granny, isn’t that absurd?”

“How else would you raise chickens?” she scowled.

“That’s the dumbest question I’ve heard.”

Well, nothing we could do or say

could make Granny change her mind.

She raised those chickens her own way,

and they were the best that you could find.