Rhyming is fun.

The boys are singing the perennial childhood favorite “The ants go marching.” Since they don’t know it well, they’re making up rhymes for each number; it’s interesting to see which turn out similar to the version I annoyed my parents with so many years ago. And then there’s this one, courtesy of the 8-year-old:
“The ants go marching twelve by twelve, the little one stops to go to hell, and they all go marching….”