Apple core, Baltimore Some people know the score They know very well what This little verse is for. I don’t have a clue, you see. It is totally a cypher to me. It’s a snappy verse, obviously, But is nothing more than poesy.
Icky wicky bother and blame Practical jokes are bad games. Ask me once I’ll say my name; Every time it will be the same.
It’s a kind of little kid rhyme That lost its meaning over time. Parsley sage rosemary and thyme Kept up with the chronological climb. But the other is one of those things Like popsicles and onion rings That living in the USA brings But leave me standing in the wings.
Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around Trying to stay on solid ground Is chancy at best, I have found. Its reasoning is not that sound.
Olly olly oxen free is another The invention of someone or other To help kids call in their brothers When the game is curtailed by mother, Or someone decides it’s done, Or maybe just no longer fun, And those hiding one by one Can come in home on the run.
Icky wicky bother and blame Practical jokes are bad games. Ask me once I’ll say my name; Every time it will be the same.
Pinch you owe me a coke Is another sadly unfunny joke Created by some sadistic bloke That should have got his nose broke But turned into a game that’s used Whenever people become amused By saying the same word the other used. I don’t like games that leave me contused.
Icky wicky bother and blame Practical jokes are bad games. Ask me once I’ll say my name; Every time it will be the same. Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around Trying to stay on solid ground Is chancy at best, I have found. Its reasoning is not that sound.