PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,

Your house is on fire,

Your children shall burn!

One, two, Freddy's coming for you.

Three, four, better lock your door.

Five, six, get a crucifix.

Seven, eight, better stay up late.

Nine, ten, never sleep again!

During afternoon tea, there's a shift in the air,

a bone-trembling chill that tells you she's there.

There are those who believe the whole town is cursed,

but the house in the marsh was by far the worst.

What she wants is unknown, but she always comes back,

the spectre of darknes, the woman in black.

Beware the stare of Mary Shaw.

She had no children, only her dolls.

If you see her in your dreams,

be sure you never, ever scream

or she'll rip your tongue out at the seam!

Round we go, the world is spinning

When it stops it's just beginning

Sun comes up, we laugh and we cry

Sun goes down and then we all die.

Hing, hang, hung.

See what the hangman done.

Hung, hang, hing.

See the robber swing.

Chop chop, Sweet Charlotte

Chop chop, till he's dead.

Chop chop, Sweet Charlotte

Chop off his hand and head.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

Chip chop, chip chop, the last man's dead.

Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her father forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done

She gave her mother forty-one.

Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack

She's dressed in black black black

she has a knife knife knife

Stuck in her back back back

she cannot breathe breathe breathe

She cannot cry cry cry

That's why she begs begs begs

She begs to die die die!

Dead men, dead men, swinging in a tree

How many dead men do you see?

Tongue turned blue and face gone grey

Watch them as they twist and sway.

Mary Mary quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells

And pretty maids all in a row.

I charge my daughters every one

To keep good house while I am gone,

You and you and especially you,

or else I'll beat you black and blue.

I married a wife on Sunday,

She began to scold on Monday,

Bad was she on Tuesday,

Middling was she on Wednesday,

Worse she was on Thursday,

Dead was she on Friday,

Glad was I on Saturday night,

To bury my wife on Sunday.

My mother she killed me,

My father he ate me,

My sister Marlene made sure to see

My bones were wrapped as neat as could be,

And laid beneath the Juniper tree.

Tweet tweet! What a lovely bird I am!

Tell, tale, tit.

Your tongue shall be slit.

And all the doggies of the town

Shall have a little bit.