Another great poem from Where the Sidewalk Ends:
When you spit from the twenty-sixth floor,
And it floats on the breeze to the ground,
Does it fall upon hats,
Or on white Persian cats
Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?
I used to think life was a bore,
But I don't feel that way anymore,
As I count up the hits,
As I smile as I sit,
As I spit from the twenty-sixth floor.
Although the Sidewalk version of this poem is quite charming, the best rendition is still on a scratchy recording I remember fondly from my childhood (I wish I knew what the album was called!) Half-sung, half-spoken, with guitar accompaniment, the poem was followed by a rousing chorus of "La la cha-poo! La-la la la cha-poo..."* and so on, till you could hear Uncle Shelby grinning from ear to ear.
*Poorly transcribed simulated sounds of hocking and spitting.