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Yankee Doodle came to town
Riding on a pony;
Stuck a feather in his cap
And called it macaroni.

 

Edward Bangs

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I know only two tunes: one of them is 'Yankee Doodle', and the other one isn't.

 

Ulysses S. Grant

 

"There's nothing ironic about being stuck in a traffic jam when you're late for something. [pause] Unless you're a town planner. If you were a town planner... and you were late for a seminar of town planners at which you were giving a talk on how you solved the problem of traffic congestion in your area, and couldn't get to it because you got stuck in a traffic jam, that'd be well ironic! [mimicking a town planner] 'I'm sorry, lads, you'll never guess!'"

 

Alanis Morissette

 

So think about the poor slave who could read, but was scared to teach their kids to read for fear they would be killing their kids. Think about the poor slave that rode to town every week. Think about the poor slave who rode the buggy to town every week. Riding the buggy … riding the buggy, and he could read, and is riding the buggy and he's riding the buggy. And up ahead he sees a busy intersection, and is riding the buggy and he's riding the buggy. Then he sees a STOP sign … Now he's in a big dilemma. "If I go through this intersection, I'm a have a accident. If I stop, these crackers will kill me." And he's riding the buggy, and in the last minute he says "f**k it", goes through the intersection, has a big ol' accident. Almost kills somebody. Then the police come: "Nigga, what is wrong with you? Nigga, what the f**k is wrong with you? You could have killed somebody, nigga. Didn't see that stop sign?" "Oh, I don't know what you talking about." "You didn't see that stop sign, that stop sign back there?" "Oh, you mean that octagon thing." "Nigga, who taught you octagon?"

 

Chris Rock

 

I should've been a cowboy.
I should've learned to rope and ride.
Wearing my six-shooter, riding my pony on a cattle drive
Stealing the young girls' hearts
Just like Gene and Roy
Singing those campfire songs.
I should've been a cowboy.

 

Toby Keith

 

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding —
Riding — riding —
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

 

Alfred Noyes