ANC, DA and Cope nursery rhymes for the elections

Over my bank manager’s dead body will I be putting up with soppy TV adverts of the party faithful waffling the same old tired garbage at us day in and day out. The adverts will feature party hacks extolling the virtues of some really shady looking characters and expecting us to believe how much these geniuses care about the common people.

What we should rather have are party political nursery rhymes, suitable for both young and old.

So herewith :

Nurdery rhymes for the 2009 election
Hey, Diddle Diddle

Hey, diddle diddle,
The arms deals a fiddle,
The submarine is still on bricks.
The little frogs laughed
To see such sport,
And the fat cats ran away with a fortune.

This Little Piggy
This little piggy went to Parliament,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy was on the ANC’s list,
This little piggy was on none,
And this little piggy cried,
“Wee, wee, wee.”
The IEC’s decision is still pending.

Ding, Dong, Bell
Ding, dong, bell,
Malema isn’t well.
Pictures with our 11 o’ clock bulletin

Little Boy Blue
Little Mosiuoa Lekota, come blow your election,
HIV causes AIDS is so old it’s become corny.
Where is the genius who acts like a sheep?
He’s under a haycock, fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I,
For if I do, he’s sure to duck the question.

Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Don’t Fluff It, sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And scared her so badly it looked like she’d had a series of botox injections.

There Was a Crooked Man
There was a crooked man
Who walked a crooked mile.
He found a crooked sixpence
Against a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat
Which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together
After sacking Vusi Pikoli.

Row, Row, Row, Your Boat
No rogue, rogue, politics
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, Dandala, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

As I was going to St Ives
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met Jacob Zuma with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were going to St Ives?
(Answers on a postcard to Mr Vavi, Cosatu. Winners name will be drawn
next week and replace Trevor Manuel as Finance Minister)

It’s Raining, it’s Pouring
It’s raining, it’s pouring;
The old man is snoring.
Bumped his head
So Bob went to bed
And he couldn’t get up in the morning.
So South African taxpayers had to bail him out.

Old Mother Hubbard
Old Grace Mugabe Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she came there
The cupboard was bare,
And so the South African taxpayers once again….

I’m sure you lot have many more you’d like to contribute.