Winter Patriot Community Blog

All the news is bad, so I thought we could all use a joke. What follows is a thing I found many years ago in Chapter 3 of R. Buckminster Fuller's book, "Critical Path."

Fuller called the poem "Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker. It dates from the depths of the Great Depression and reportedly was sung around campfires in Hoovervilles all over the country. In another venue, I can picture someone like Durante and his big schnoz (or Cagney or Cantor or Carmichael), dressed in a striped jacket, a straw boater, white slacks and shoes and a cane. He shuffles across the stage "makin' the hat" and chanting the lyrics. It's that kind of stuff. . . . Anyway, Fuller attributed the poem to Ogden Nash. Here it is:

Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker

1.
I’m an autocratic figure in these democratic states,
A dandy demonstration of hereditary traits.
As the children of the baker bake the most delicious breads,
As the sons of Casanova fill the most exclusive beds,
As the Barrymores, the Roosevelts, and others I could name
Inherited the talents that perpetuate their fame,
My position in the structure of society I owe
To the qualities my parents bequeathed me long ago.
My pappy was a gentleman, and musical to boot,
He used to play piano in a house of ill repute.
The madam was a lady, and a credit to her cult.
She enjoyed my pappy’s playing, and I was the result!
So my mammy and my pappy are the ones I have to thank
That I’m Chairman of the Board of the National Silly Bank!

Chorus:
Oh, our parents forgot to get married,
Oh, our parents forgot to get wed,
Did a wedding bell chime, it was always a time
When our parents were somewhere in bed.
Then all thanks to our kind loving parents,
We are kings in the land of the free.
Your banker, your broker, your Washington joker,
Three prominent bastards are we, tra la,
Three prominent bastards are we!

2.
In a cozy little farmhouse in a cozy little dell,
A dear old-fashioned farmer and his daughter used to dwell.
She was pretty, she was charming, she was tender, she was mild,
And her sympathy was such that she was frequently with child.
The year her hospitality attained a record high
She became the happy mother of an infant, which was I.
Whenever she was gloomy I could always make her grin
By childishly inquiring who my daddy could have been.
The hired man was favored by the girls in Mummy’s set
And a trav’ling man from Scranton was an even money bet.
But such were Mammy’s motives, and such was her allure,
That even Roger Babson wasn’t altogether sure.
Well I took my mother’s morals and I took my daddy’s crust,
And I grew to be the founder of the New York Blanker's Trust.

Chorus:
Oh, our parents forgot to get married, etc.

3.
In a torrid penal chain gang on a dusty southern road,
My late lamented daddy had his permanent abode.
Now some were there for stealing, but my daddy’s only fault
Was an overwhelming tendency for criminal assault.
His philosophy was simple and quite free of moral taint:
Seduction is for sissies, but a he-man wants his rape.
Daddy’s total list of victims was embarrassingly rich,
And one of them was Mother, but he couldn’t tell me which.
Well I didn’t go to college, but I got me a degree.
I reckon I’m the model of a perfect S.O.B.
I’m a debit to my country but a credit to my Dad,
The most expensive senator the country ever had.
I remember Daddy’s warning -- that raping is a crime,
Unless you rape the voters a million at a time.

Chorus:
Oh, our parents forgot to get married, etc.

4.
I’m an ordinary figure in these democratic states,
A pathetic demonstration of hereditary traits.
As the children of the cop possess the flattest kind of feet,
As the daughter of the floozie has a waggle to her seat,
My position at the bottom of society I owe
To the qualities my parents bequeathed me long ago.
My father was a married man and, what is even more,
He was married to my mother -- a fact which I deplore.
I was born in holy wedlock, consequently by and by,
I was rooked by every bastard who had plunder in his eye.
I invested, I deposited, I voted every fall,
And I saved up every penny and the bastards took it all.
At last I’ve learned my lesson and I’m on the proper track:
I’m a self-appointed bastard and I'M GOING TO GET IT BACK!

Chorus:
Oh, our parents forgot to get married,
Oh, our parents forgot to get wed,
Did a wedding bell chime, it was always a time
When our parents were somewhere in bed.
Then all thanks to our kind loving parents,
We are kings in the land of the free.
Your banker, your broker, your Washington joker,
Three prominent bastards are we, tra la,
Three prominent bastards are we!

Cheers, everyone!