There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon.
Where she was going I couldn't but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.
"Old woman, old woman, old woman," said I,
"Where are you going to up so high?"
"To brush the cobwebs off the sky!"
"May I go with you?"
There was an old miser who built his own casket
‘Cause it was cheaper than having it made.
Of wire and string and an old apple basket
He made up the box where his bones would be laid.
"Old miser, old miser, old miser," I said,
"Why be so mean with your own final bed?"
"What will I care when I'm cold stiff and dead?"
"What are you saving for, whiskey & bread?"