Having the weird, demented minds of typical teenagers with too much time on their hands, my rowdy band of degenerates and I made up deranged, little rhymes, while trying to outdo each other with the grossest and most insane jingles, putting them to the popular music our grandparents were into. For instance, this one’s sung to the tune of “Button Up Your Overcoat”:
You smile, your teeth fall out; your hair is like sauerkraut. Take good care of yourself; you belong to me.
I can tell by the smell, you’re not feeling very well. Take good care of yourself; you belong to me.
The previous absurdity was rather mild, but I figured I’d build up to a resounding crescendo. The next one is rather bizarre, and I must make note that no animals were harmed by any of this; however, dog-lovers may take offense. I can’t remember if we made this up, or someone else passed it on to us. It’s just a bit of sick humor, sung to the tune of “I’m Looking Over a Four-leaf Clover”:
I’m looking over my dead dog, Rover, laying on the kitchen floor; with one broken leg and the other is lame. I ran him over with my Coco-Puff train.
I forget the name of the next tune to which this final, brain-sick, prize-winning, most maniacal, wigged-out composition is put to, albeit the song was the theme music for a horror-picture series similar to the Alfred Hitchcock Hour. Perhaps it was from one of the zany programs put together by the local NYC-TV channels. At any rate, in closing:
The worms crawl in; the worms crawl out. They eat your guts and they spit them out. The sight’s so bad, your face turns green. The puss runs out like whipped cream. Blood and gore, across the floor; and me without my sipping straw …,
So, please pass the gravy!
Now that you are totally grossed out, allow me to bid you adieu and sweet dreams.