I'm a Poet, But I Don't Know It...

...But My Feet Show it,
Because they're Longfellows.

Speaking of Longfellow:

Listen my children, and you shall hear
of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
He jumped in his car, stepped on the gas.
The bottom fell out and he slid on...
the grass.

I'll always remember such little silly poems I memorized as a child.

For example:

Admission is free, pay at the door.
Choose your seats and sit on the floor.

Ladies and gentlemen, hobos and tramps.
Cross eyed mosquitoes and bow-legged ants.
I stand here before you, sitting behind you,
to tell you a story I know nothing about.

One bright day in the middle of the night.
Two dead boys came out to fight.
Back to back they faced each other.
Drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise.
And came to arrest the two dead boys.
And if you don't believe this lie is true.
Ask the blind man, he saw it too!

Whenever I'm asked how many days there are in a certain month, I recite this:

Thirty days has Septober.
April, June and no wonder.
All the rest have peanut butter.
Except my grandmother 
who rides a little red tricycle.

How about this one:

Of all the fishes in the seas,
I'd rather be a bass.
I'd climb upon the seaweed trees,
And slide down on my
hands and knees.

I got this off of a Spike Jones record:

A polar bear sleeps in his little bear skin.
He sleeps very well I am told.
Last night I slept in my little bare skin.
And I got a heck of a cold!

(It's funnier spoken than written.)

And when I wanted to gross someone out:

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out.
The worms play pinochle on your snout.
Your body turns a sickly green.
And pus runs out like whipping cream.
And me without a spoon.