In the North Bx.,E223St and Paulding Ave in the early thirties, we sat on the stoop of our two-family houses and sewed clothing for the little five-cent celluloid dolls, bought at Berkies candy store.We also made things out of peach pits by scraping them against the rough cement of the stoop .Remember, anyone? Annette
This train gose down,down baby down by the rollercoster sweet,sweet baby I’ll nerver let you go If you wanta kiss me just say you love me shimmy,shimmy cocc-pop shimmy rah shimmy,shimmy cocc-pop shimmy rah I like coffee I like tea I like the (oppional)boy he likes me so,stand back (oppional)boy don’t be shy Bet you five dollars I could bet your behind last night and the night before I met my boy friend at the candy store he bought me ice cream he bought me cake he brought me home with a belly ach MaMa,Mama I’m so sick call the doctor Quick-Quick-Quick Doctor,Doctor shall I live or shall I die Close your eye’s and count to 5 1-2-3-4-5 I’am alive on chanal 5 6-7-8-9-10 I’m die again on chanal 10 Scooby-Doo on chanal 2 Frankenstin on chanal 9 and G.I.Joe on HBO ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Your mama, my mama live acrossed the street 1819 Blueberry street every night they have a fight and this is what they say… Hey,hey Boys are rotten made out of cotten Girls are sexy made out of pepsi Boys go to jupiter to git more stupiter Girls go to collage to get more Knollage Boys take a bath to get more math Girls take a shower to get more power ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sham,sham,sham I don’t want to go mexico No more,more,more there is abig fat police man At my door,door,door he’ll grab me by the collar make me pay a dollar I don’t want to go to mexico No more, more, more Or Sham,sham,sham I don’t want to go hollywood No more,more,more there is a big fat Michel jackson At my door,door,door he’ll grab me by the hips Make me kiss his lips I don’t want to go hollywood No more,more,more Or Sham,sham,sham I don’t want to go Tennisee No more,more,more there is a big fat Elves at my door,door,door He’ll grab me by the wrist Make me do the twist I don’t want to go Tennisee No more,more,more ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Down by the banks of the hanky panky were the bullfrogs jump from bank,to banky With an eps-ohps-eps-opps-eps-ops-ohps and it gose kre-splat! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lincoln,lincoln Iv’e been thinkin what the heck have you been drinkin looks like wiskey tased like wine all my god it’s terban time close you eyes and cout to ten if you lose start over again 1-2-3-4-…… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ These are just a few of the clapping games I Know
I remember these huge acorn trees that circled my old elementry school, (p.s. 105, Bronx), my sister and I would collect all the acorns on the floor, we had bags and bags full. Than we would go to war with the boys who lived on our block. That’ll teach them not to put hair removal cream on the eggs that they would throw at us on Halloween. Anybody ever play asses up? Well, if you dropped the ball, you better run to the wall because if someone threw it faster than you could run you get a letter, and if you got all 3 letters, everyone got a chance to throw the ball at your ass. OOUUCCHH!!!!
I didn’t make a lot of prank calls, I was too scared the person might have caller ID or trace the call! My cousin, however, loved to make them. One she did a few times was she would call a random number and tell the person she was from Dominos and ask if they ordered some kind of pizza… When they said no, she’d say “Well then someone must be pranking you. This is the number they gave…” heh.
I came to this site, hoping to find the first line to a verse — someone typed it here, but the first line is still missing. ?? something-something-something-something ?? I met my boyfriend at the candy store. He bought me ice-cream, he bought me cake, he brought me home with a belly-ache. Mamma, Mamma, I’m so sick. Call the doctor – quick, quick, quick. Doctor, Doctor, will I die? Count to five and you’ll be alive. 1-2-3-4-5. I’m alive. 6-7-8-9-10. I’m dead again. But the missing first line is driving me crazy. Here’s a game we’d play where you would do these things actions to another person (on the back, or head, or whatever) and try to almost hypnotize them. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate on what I’m saying. People are dying, little boys are crying, concentrate. Concentrate on what I’m saying. Crack an egg on your head and let the yolk spill down, let the yolk spill down, let the yolk spill down. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate on what I’m saying. People are dying…. Stick a knife in your back and let the blood run down, let the blood run down, let the blood run down. Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate on what I’m saying. People are dying…. There were other versus too — but at the end you would sing: Put a rope around your neck and pull it, pull it. And, if the person was truly concentrating through the whole thing, they would subconsciously lean back when you were pretending to pull the rope. Now that I think about it — it’s a really morbid game.
Remember United Parcel trucks (Electrc powered) Milk wagons with rubber tires for wheels. Rent a bike ,without fenders l0 cents an hour with fenders twenty five cents. You had to bring your familys current Coned bill as an ID. Get into movie house with a pass and five cents see three westerns, three shorts, three cartoons, received a thin comic book a two cent soda and then got a pass to come the following week for five cents. This was the Upper Eastside of New York in the thirties
Reporting from Parkchester in the 60’s. We played in the courtyard of the U-shaped PS126. Singles, doubles, triples by hitting the opposite wall above the windows of each level. A narrow band below the roof was a home run, but on the roof was an out, for the ball was lost, and the batter had to run down to the candy store to buy a new Spaldeen ($.25?). If nobody had money, the game was over. My best stickball story is from the Saturday afternoon when I was having such a blast playing that I forgot my altar boy assignment for the 5:00PM mass at St. Raymond’s. My mom was so ripped when I strolled home at 7:00PM that I had to go to three consecutive masses the next day. From humiliation came responsibility, I guess. Great website, great memories from the Bronx.