Songs for Car Rides, Campouts, and Bedtimes — Group 1: Beloved Memories of My Father
I present to you the iconic songs Dad taught us on our cross-country road trips in the VW camper. Dad’s own enthusiasm and the kids’ collective energy (two brothers, three stepsisters, myself, and at times two step-cousins, all in the back of the Volkswagen) are among the most endearing memories that I have.
Please enjoy:
With My Hands on My Shoulders (a “Germlish” song)
Hole in the Bottom of the Sea
Hole in the Bucket
I Wanna Go Home
Worms Crawl In (The Hearse Song)
You Can’t Get to Heaven
With My Hands on My Shoulders
This is the classic “Dad Special” that helped us pass HOURS in the VW Camper. Taught to us while he was driving (gestures and all), Dad explained it is sung in what he affectionately called Germlish (German English). When I asked, “Why were the kids’ hands on their shoulders?” Dad would only answer (and staunchly defend), “That’s how they taught the children back then.” Me — “Really, why? How could you keep your hands up all day?” Dad would laughingly say something about helping the kids staying focused and not getting into trouble, which would only increase my incredulousness.
In the mid ‘70’s my dad had a VW camper, which carried six or eight kids plus my dad and stepmom on vacations. I remember sitting in the “middle middle seat” (the middle of a cushioned vinyl bench my dad had built behind the front seats so that three kids could fit across that bench, three across the back seat, and two in the back end as needed; one of us occasionally got onto the floor for a break). The middle middle seat was just behind and between the two front seats, meaning, it was a dangerous place to sit. Though Dad’s bench design meant I could face forward or backward, with no seat-back or seatbelt, I could have flown between Dad and my stepmom and through the windshield if we had been in an accident. I remember both their arms suddenly extending sideways to stop me from going forward too far whenever Dad had to stop short.
My mom also had a VW camper. Both campers had a long stick — five on the floor (young people these days won’t know what that means 🙂), and Mom’s camper was the first car I drove on the streets of Lancaster, Ohio after she unexpectedly pulled over and told me, “Your turn.” (I had only been practicing in an automatic Ford Grenada in our housing development.) I also drove the camper to high school in my senior year 😁 (unsurprisingly, it was the only one in the lot).
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my brain cofer, my teacher dear
Brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my schweat boxer, my teacher dear
Schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my eye blinker, my teacher dear
Eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my schnot locker, my teacher dear
Schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my soup strainer, my teacher dear
Soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my food thrower, my teacher dear
Food thrower, soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my chin boxer, my teacher dear
Chin boxer, food thrower, soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my rubber necker, my teacher dear
Rubber necker, chin boxer, food thrower, soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my chest protector, my teacher dear
Chest protector, rubber necker, chin boxer, food thrower, soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
With my hands on my shoulders
And vas is dos here?
Dos is my chest bread basket, my teacher dear
Bread basket, chest protector, rubber necker, chin boxer, food thrower, soup strainer, schnot locker, eye blinker, schweat boxer, brain cofer
Dominic don du
That’s what we learned in school
Hole in the Bottom of the Sea
Yes, another song to help pass the time, but this one was especially helpful in promoting the development of visual memory as well as correct use of prepositions. I remember imagining the said hole, log, frog, and flea with all their details and specifically noting the use of in, on, and of when I was seven or eight years old.
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s wings on the flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s wings on the flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s dust on the wings on the flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s dust on the wings on the flea on the tail on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea
There’s a hole
There’s a hole
There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea
Hole in the Bucket
Ditto on the visual memory training for this song, but it’s not a song that I can honestly say I liked. In fact, it never did sit comfortably with me. I didn’t understand how the wife could be such a bossy know-it-all or that the husband could let the conversation go as far as it did. I felt it was a song that just made women look silly and unintelligent, and it supported men making fun of them. However, my siblings and cousins enthusiastically acted out the parts as we sang, and I very much enjoyed watching them do so.
Husband Part
— — Wife Part
There’s a hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, dear Liza
There’s a hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, a hole
— — Well, fix it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
Well, fix it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
Well, fix it
With what shall I fix it?
Dear Liza, dear Liza
With what shall I fix it?
Dear Liza, with what?
— — With a straw!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
With a straw!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
With a straw
But the straw is too long
Dear Liza, dear Liza
But the straw is too long
Dear Liza, too long
— — Then cut it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
Then cut it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
Then cut it
With what shall I cut it?
Dear Liza, dear Liza
With what shall I cut it?
Dear Liza, with what?
— — With a knife!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
With a knife!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
With a knife
But the knife is too dull
Dear Liza, dear Liza
But the knife is too dull
Dear Liza, too dull
— — Then sharpen it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
Then sharpen it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
Then sharpen it
With what shall I sharpen it?
Dear Liza, dear Liza
With what shall I sharpen it?
Dear Liza, with what?
— — With a stone!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
With a stone!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
With a stone
But the stone is too dry
Dear Liza, dear Liza
But the stone is too dry
Dear Liza, too dry
— — Then wet it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
Then wet it!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
Then wet it
With what shall I wet it?
Dear Liza, dear Liza
With what shall I wet it?
Dear Liza, with what?
— — With water!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
With water!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
With water
With what shall I fetch it?
Dear Liza, dear Liza
With what shall I fetch it?
Dear Liza, with what?
— — With a bucket!
Dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
With a bucket!
Dear Henry, dear Henry
With a bucket
There’s a hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, dear Liza
There’s a hole in the bucket
Dear Liza, a hole
I Wanna Go Home
Another Dad Special, and I loved singing it with him. When I was an adult I told Dad that throughout my entire childhood I thought the person had drunk a very cold drink too fast and had gotten a brain freeze, and I thought the “foam” referred to the white foam on the waves when they rolled in. He laughed and laughed. 🙂 I wonder if he learned this song during his brief stint in the Navy, where he served until he realized he had epilepsy.
Show me the way to go home
I’m tired and I wanna go to bed
Had a little drink about an hour ago
And it went straight to my head
Wherever I may roam
On land or sea or foam
You’ll always hear me singin’ this song
I’m tired an’ I wanna go home
Worms Crawl In (The Hearse Song)
This was another Dad Special. The morbid quality of this particular song notwithstanding, the death songs (Angels Watching Over Me, Found a Peanut, Grandfather’s Clock, Worms Crawl In) did allow me to learn about death, to ponder its inevitability, and to begin considering the purpose of life.
Did you ever see a hearse go by
And think that you are the next to die
They wrap you up in big white sheets
And bury you under six feet deep
And all goes well for about a week
Until the coffin begins to leak
And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out
The ants play pinochle on your snout
And the pus pours out like thick white cream
And me without my spoon
You Can’t Get to Heaven
This repeat-after-me song was my very favorite song sung on all those long car trips. It got everyone involved, and it made you be creative. I myself never came up with good new verses, but I remember those that others did. While typing up this narrative I asked myself, where did Dad get all these long songs? It occurs to me he probably learned them from the summer camp he and his older brother used to go to every year, which I believe was up in the Catskills, New York, or from campouts he enjoyed as a Boy Scout (my grandfather, Dad’s dad, was the troop leader).
Well, anyway, I never understood why the deacon stayed in the cellar with the jug he found. I asked Dad about this multiple times, and he would only reply chuckling that the deacon just felt like staying down there. When I was a young adult I told Dad I used to think the deacon must have decided he needed to clean the cellar, or he found the jug and fell asleep, or he was too lazy to go back upstairs and continue his deacon-ly duties. Dad laughed and laughed.
I also asked repeatedly, what does it mean to grieve my Lord, never understanding how or why God would grieve over me (still don’t, really).
I always loved the last verse and wanted to be the one to lead it, but it was usually Dad who finished the song. I remember asking Dad if they would drill a hole in the clouds (yes, he replied). I loved the visual of the last verse, and I always imagined going to heaven whole, as the person I am now, getting pulled through the hole to join whoever had died first. Needing to die beforehand never crossed my mind (still doesn’t, really).
Oh, the deacon went down
— — Oh, the deacon went down
To the cellar to pray
— — To the cellar to pray
He found a jug
— — He found a jug
And he stayed all day
— — And he stayed all day
(Sing together)
Oh, the deacon went down to the cellar to pray
He found a jug and he stayed all day
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
(After singing this first verse, Dad would lead the second verse, and then whoever he named would lead the next verse, naming someone new along with their problem clothing, body part, hat, visor, car, van, campsite, and so on and why you can’t get to heaven in it. Then that person would name a new person with a new problem item, and this would continue until everyone made up a verse. I will use my name as an example, and give some common verses as well as the more creative ones my siblings came up with.)
Oh, you can’t get to heaven
— — Oh, you can’t get to heaven
In LeighAnn’s socks
— — In LeighAnn’s socks
’Cause LeighAnn’s socks
— — ’Cause LeighAnn’s socks
Are full of rocks
— — Are full of rocks
(Sing together)
Oh, you can’t get to heaven in LeighAnn’s socks
’Cause LeighAnn’s socks are full of rocks
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
Oh, you can’t get to heaven
— — Oh, you can’t get to heaven
In ____’s pants
— — In ____’s pants
’Cause ____’s pants
— — ’Cause ____’s pants
Are full of ants
— — Are full of ants
Oh, you can’t get to heaven in ____’s pants
’Cause ____’s are full of ants
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t gonna grieve…my Lord no more
’Cause Dad’s hair, it just ain’t there
‘Cause____’s shirt is full of dirt…
Up ____’s nose is a rubber hose…
’Cause ____’s visor just ain’t a riser…
'Cause ____’s skateboard would offend the Lord
’Cause this campsite would give the Lord a fright
‘Cause this old car won’t go that far…
(You get the idea.)
♥️ Thank you for accompanying me on another long ride in the VW full of song. ♥️
