Here are some nursery rhymes by Daddy Duck. Some were published in Nursing home rhymes (2012), others in Daddy Duck's threnody (2013).


Much may be said in favour of this collection. But I cannot think what. Children have sung rhymes to their dribbling, malodorous parents since dribbling, malodorous parents began. Those collected here represent flowers picked long ago in the gardens of our nursing homes and inner-city bus shelters, though some seem oddly familiar. It is said the aged Alan Titchmarsh was lulled to sleep in his cradle by his daughter with ‘Stinkle, Stinkle, Little Fart’ and a senescent Jenny Murray was put down to the strains of ‘There was an old woman who lived in the 1950s’. On his deathbed Gok Wan insisted on a rendition of the lovely ‘Ladyboy, Ladyboy, flyaway hair!’ and in her nineties Cheryl Cole is said to have loved to hear ‘Little Miss Gusset’ repeated ad nauseam. But that was many years ago, and these rhymes might never have survived had I not taken them under my wings.

D. Duck


Old King Chuck was a randy old buck
And a randy old buck was he
So he called for his queen
And his maid of eighteen
And his groom and his courtesans three

Every whore had diamonds galore
And diamonds galore had she
And the jeweller was paid
By the groom and the maid
And the cook and the butler and me!


Blah, blah, redtop, have you any cheer?
No sir, only rage and fear!
Some for the bigot, and some for the dunce
Who sucks at your swollen breasts with whimpers and grunts


Oh where, oh where, has my little god gone?
Oh where, oh where can He be?
With his flock turned off, and his priests turned on
He’s dead, and cannot hurt me!


Georgie Tory salmon-n-ham
Kissed the rich and gave them jam
When the poor boys came to play
Georgie stole their bread away


Seedy Greedy banker
Heaped up a mound of dough
Down came the rates
And brought the banker low

Out came The Sun
To rant and rave in vain
While Seedy Greedy banker
Was paid in gold again


Little boy blue, come blow up your bomb
Like sheep men are led-oh, like cows, to the Somme
Where is the priest who looks after the sheep?
He’s blessing the guns while the angels weep
Will you question him?  No, not I
For “God is on our side!” he’ll reply


Sing a song of slickness, a pocket-full of lies
Four and twenty blackshirts, wearing old school ties
When the House was opened the shirts began to bawl
“The poor, the old, the sick, the refugee – we hate ’em all!”

Old Jim was in his council house, counting every copper
His wife was in the hospital (MRSA would drop her)
His son was in the army, killing for his pay
When down flew a Tory and stole his job away


Simon Granger met a stranger running for the bus
Simon Granger asked the stranger “Are you one of us?”
“Yes,” the stranger said to Granger “I was born in Rome”
Fearful, Granger kicked the stranger, bawling “go back home!”

Simple Simon went to London for to catch a match
All his friends were on the bus, they drank and sang a snatch
Of Rule Britannia, till they saw the very men they feared
A yellow man, a tawny man, a dun man with a beard

Beryl Granger met a stranger, in King Edward’s days
Beryl feared the “yellow peril” and that foreign ways
Had destroyed her nation … But then, in a hundred years
For that nation Simon fought, with patriotic tears


The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown
The Lion drew his sword, his foe cried “put that hazard down!”
“It must be risk-assessed before you use it in this town!”

“But how shall I defend the crown?” the simple Lion said
“You’ll do it,” cried the Unicorn, “with something soft instead”
He grabbed the sword and carelessly cut off the Lion’s head

The Lion’s mother sued the Unicorn whose clumsiness
Had breached, she claimed, the rights of man (or rather lioness)
The Unicorn then sued the crown, for causing him such stress

The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown
But both were fools and lost their prize, their riches and renown
The Lion died – the Lawyer bought a new and costly gown