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sidewalk songs, JumP-roPe rhymes, and ClaP-hand games 
oF aFriCan ameriCan Children

monA lisA sAloy

Back during elementary days when everyone walked to school, the neighbors 
checked kids’ bad behavior, then reported it to your parents, where you’d really 
get it again for doing what you had no business doing in the first place. In those 
days, not everyone owned a television set. Those who did had to patiently wait 
for TV time after the news and those God-awful “variety” shows for grown ups. By 
then, it was bedtime. Left to our own playful imaginations, we creatively filled time 
with various sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand games. There were 
no headphones, no Sega games, no video arcades, no boom boxes, no CD or 
MP3 players, no palm pilots, no cell phones. This was before the “Mall,” and most 
shopping was done downtown at back counters during Jim Crow. In many ways, 
it was a simpler time when many parents walked their kids to and from the bus 
stop or school in the neighborhood because few folks on the block owned cars. 
We lived in Black neighborhoods, shopped at neighborhood groceries, and sat in 
Colored-only balconies at the Saturday matinee. It was just us kids. We had each 
other; we had time. We were creative; and mostly, we just had good fun together. 

While still in graduate school at Louisiana State University (LSU) at the end of 
the 80s, I wondered which of those kids’ games and rhymes continued in Black 
communities some twenty years post-Civil Rights and integration.1 Were these 
rhymes unique? What were kids doing at the end of the twentieth century? These 
questions led me to collect kids’ lore in New Orleans, from the mid-80s through 
1999. While I lost everything (a life-long collection of books, unpublished research 
and creative works) in Katrina flood waters, thanks to archives such as the New 
Orleans Jazz & Heritage Foundation2 and the Louisiana State Division of Folklife, 
the raw data is recreated here. In the longer study, a complete listing of all games, 
rhymes, and songs is further classified.

My initial purpose in collecting kids’ lore in New Orleans was to unearth 
connections from kids’ play to the blossoming adult. Were there similarities in the 
function of kids’ lore in New Orleans to other places to the scholarship in general? 
Did this generation of boys join the girls, how, when, why? For New Orleans pre-
Katrina, in what environment did these activities occur? For that decade or more of 
collecting, here is a sample of the kids’ culture existing prior to the devastation of 
hurricane Katrina. This data set is in sharp contrast to games and rhymes of their 
parents’ generation (boomers) and even greater gender distance from the current 
generation post Katrina. The purpose here is to provide part of the overall study to 
portray the kids’ culture as evidenced prior to 2005.

In New Orleans at the end of the previous century and up to 2005, Black 
children performed the songs and rhymes in a family and extended-family 
environment. The youth were sometimes left attended by elder brothers and 
sisters, cousins, or neighbors, who might get them started and urge them to 
continue, especially in New Orleans — a city of families where it is common for 

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several generations to live in the same neighborhood where they were born,3 on 
the same street, or within blocks of one another. The result has been a sustained 
culture evolving over centuries. According to the Louisiana Endowment for the 
Humanities, prior to Katrina, nearly 70% of Louisiana residents never left the state. 
This does not mean all is love and kindness. Many families retain that geographical 
closeness and do not speak because of old grudges. For the sake of the children, a 
nurturing and extensive children’s society continues.

This city of families, though many are at or below poverty level, remained 
in the same neighborhoods for half of the last century on the average, prior to 
Katrina. The result was a breeding ground for a culture of children, who were 
supervised by the loving eyes of family, extended family, and neighbors. That 
culture of kids produced sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand 
games, which reflected not just rhythm and rhyme, but a developing sense of 
cultural identity, gender, social mores, and in more recent years, comments on 
society incorporating popular culture.

At that time, the existence of children’s sidewalk culture depended on 
adults who believe that children should socialize separately. Even though they 
considered their children to be blessings from God, in New Orleans pre-Katrina, 
many believed that children should not be a part of adult talk and that children 
should play with children. Neighbors also functioned as extended family, so an 
element of safety existed because of not-too-distant watchful eyes, especially for 
younger kids. The result is that many hot Louisiana evenings are still spent in this 
way. This allows Black children to talk about “grown things” with their friends and 
siblings in a way they can get away with, in a song.

Doing just cursory research, it was clear to me that this kind of urban fun, 
that is playing sidewalk games, is not exclusive to African American Children. 
For example, such rhymes as “Teddy Bear” can be found in some form around 
the world and can be traced to early explorers who brought it with them most 
likely from England; generally, many scholars suggest that “Teddy Bear” has been 
around for some 300 years. “Teddy Bear” is used as a rhyme, with jumping single-
rope games, and also in clap-hand games. This one was collected in Detroit in 
1989 or 1990.4

Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, turn around  
Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, touch the ground 
Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, tie your shoes 
Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, watch the news 
Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, climb the stairs 
Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, go to bed 

Though a tried-and-true centuries-old model of kids’ lore, here in Detroit at the 
end of the last decade, it is updated with the phrase “watch the news.” In African 
American urban areas, these sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand 
Games serve different functions, foster quite original traditions, and continue 
strongly; but the way this process developed is unique; how these games evolve 
gave rise to generations of gifted young folks, and these activities provide a 

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nurturing environment in a protected neighborhood setting.
This research into the songs, games, and rhymes of African American children 

suggests strongly that it is no accident African Americans have contributed to 
world music, to an original American literary landscape. It is no accident that 
“rapping” is now a commercial commodity, and the lyrics of rhythm and blues 
music is legendary. The roots of Black music and literature are inseparably linked 
to urban and rural kids’ games, songs, and play. Much in the way that the early 
blues, work songs, and sorrow songs gave rise to gospel music, jazz, and rhythm 
and blues, these sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand games replace 
nursery rhymes very early and become the African American child’s strong 
connection to the word in performance. As a result, this lore is the core of an oral 
literature, the beginnings of literacy, and a training ground for verbal repartee and 
verbal dueling necessary for survival in urban communities. The verbal prowess 
of African American children played on sidewalks in urban spaces is a direct link 
to the popular culture, music and story-telling nature of what become commercial 
raps. This folklore of Black children builds confidence and prepares these children 
to meet and assess the world in which they find themselves.

Africans brought to American against their wills took with them a great sense 
of rhythm and song. Hand-clap games such as those involving elaborate clapping 
under raised legs, slapping thighs and chests rhythmically while reciting the 
rhyme can be traced to working in fields during Reconstruction, the rhythms and 
recitations resembling work songs. Note this common example of Handbone. It is 
performed in a call-and-response fashion.

Leader: Handbone, Handbone, where you been?  
Respondent: Round that corner drinking gin. 
Leader: Handbone, Handbone, what you know? 
Respondent: I’ll pick this corn and drink some more.5

Rhymes with claps such as this one were surely pass-the-time entertainment, like 
Little Sally Walker, which can be traced to the days of slavery. African American 
children today should know that their games, rhymes, and songs are from a long-
standing tradition of verbal strength maintained throughout the difficult times 
when education was prohibited for Black people. Another question arose: are 
contemporary games, rhymes, and songs, still functioning, and how?

My fear was that with so many contemporary distractions and trends, the 
advent of hundreds of cable TV stations, video games, headphones, and 
integration, these traditions are sometimes wearing thin. It was to document these 
traditions that I began this work. What I found is that these sidewalk songs, jump-
rope rhymes, and clap-hand games, these traditions of oral lore among African 
American children, continued to function as teaching tools as much a play.

African American folklife determines whether we grow up learning from our 
moms how to quilt or how to sing gospel. Folklore is the sum of African American 
jokes, stories, rhymes, and songs. Folklife combines the ways of African Americans 
and influences how Blacks pass on what we make and do for generations. 
Folklore is what all people learn outside of school, outside of church, the 

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traditions we pass on face-to-face, by word-of-mouth, generation-to-generation. 
Sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand games are significant examples 
of the folklore of African American children: what we do among ourselves for 
ourselves, but what is passed on to us, mixed with what each age adds to it.

Verbal artistry among African American children is expressive and creative, 
although the forms are different. Children’s lore in New Orleans’ Black 
neighborhoods bears a necessary developmental function. Sidewalk songs pass on 
attitudes and knowledge of self, imitations of adult life and values, with distinct 
criticisms of adult life and society norms. This is demonstrated in such circle games 
as “When I was a baby.” There is nothing in the boomer repertoire like this one. 

In this circle game, an imitation game, “When I was a baby,” which looks 
so simple and fun on the surface, there is some resemblance to the antiphonal 
pattern, since one girl jumps into the center of the circle and begins the song, 
which is then repeated by the girls surrounding the caller. All in the circle sing the 
response together, adding physical representations of the actions of the particular 
subject. Literally, they recall how a woman develops and lives her life, how she 
experiences disappointment, and how she handles conflict. 

When I was a baby, baby, baby 
When I was a baby, baby, baby 
I went a wan a wan a wan wan wan (imitating baby sounds)

All night long. All night long. (This girl re-joins the circle, and another 
girl steps into the center of the circle reciting that next part. This 
swapping of the central leader continues with different girls leading 
until the game is completed. Depending on how many are involved, 
everyone will get a chance at the circle center; or in the case of just a 
few girls, the each new stage of a girl’s/woman’s life is lead).

When I was a girl, girl, girl 
When I was a girl, girl, girl 
I went a umph a umph, umph ump humph (imitating smiley faces 
while pretending to jump rope; but they actually swing an invisible 
jump rope)

All night long. All night long. 

When I was a teenager, teenager, teenager 
When I was a teenager, teenager, teenager 
I went a hum a hum hum hum hum (imitating a teen on the phone; 
the girls hold up one hand thumb up and forefinger out to resemble 
the headset of a phone.)

All night long. All night long. 

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When I got married, married, married 
When I got married, married, married, 
I went a kiss, a kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss (imitating a full-blown embrace, 
sticking out their lips pursed as in kissing; all movements animated 
and exaggerated throughout).

All night long. All night long. 

When I had a baby, baby, baby 
When I had a baby, baby, baby 
I went a rock, a rock, rock, rock, rock (imitating a woman rocking 
their baby to sleep or comforting the child held tightly in their arms).

All night long. All night long. 

When my husband beat me, beat me, beat me 
When my husband beat me, beat me, beat me 
I went a unh, a unh, unh, unh, unh (imitates the anguish of being 
severely beaten to the ground, afraid, hurt, crying out in pain).

All night long. All night long. 

When I beat my husband, husband, husband 
When I beat my husband, husband, husband 
I went a bam, a bam, bam, bam, bam (imitates vigorously fighting 
back in retaliation with no fear and profound vindication and power; 
they enact the beating of the husband to the ground, laughing all the 
way).

All night long. All night long. 

When I lost my baby, baby, baby 
When I lost my baby, baby, baby 
I went a sigh, a sigh, cry, cry, cry (imitates great grief, making crying 
faces all the while, sometimes laughing but fiercely pretending to cry).

All night long. All night long. 

When I died, died, died 
When I died, died, died 
I went a humph, a humph, humph, humph, humph (imitates what it is 
like to be dead, arms folded akimbo, faces stern).

All night long. All night long. (This ends the game).

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At the time, the core group of girls were aged six through ten. They lived within 
walking distance and most worshiped together, while a few attended St. Raymond 
Catholic School, just a few blocks east. They were not shy about reenacting their 
play and enjoyed having an adult audience. It was shocking to hear such young 
girls at play reflecting on the dominant gender themes of the day as well as the 
taboo topic of marital sex, resulting in birth, domestic violence, and the woman’s 
power not just to fight back but to successfully retaliate and live out her life.

Circle games allow everyone to play; no one is left out. Sometimes, they 
are elimination games; in this one case, it is not. “When I was a baby” is an 
imitation game, something like more common Simon Says, but it is much more 
contemporary and light years away from the child-like concerns of my youth. 
Here, the gender roles are clearly defined, yet the “little” girls are not fazed by the 
content; this is typical of what they witness on TV, in movies, in neighborhoods. 

At its core, children’s folklore in African American urban areas is not just play 
but a comment on the world. Some rhymes are downright vulgar, with profane 
shouts and responses, and others are more respectful, editing offensive words 
cleverly during the game with the kids not skipping a beat. Some attitudes are 
imposed by race, sex, family, and individual ethnic and economic situations. New 
Orleans, with its Black majority, imposes a dominant and varied and varied set of 
adult examples, values, barriers, and opportunities. How did these come to be?

As with all folklore, transmission is key. With the oral songs and rhymes of 
these sidewalk games, Black youth learn typically from other children. They learn 
these songs and rhymes from their parents, often before they can talk. In many 
ways, this is the earliest literacy of African American kids. Once in the children’s 
repertoire, sidewalk songs take the place of nursery rhymes and reflect pre-adult 
concerns. Children then learn them and pass them on to each other in the street, 
on the front porch, on the sidewalk, or in the public parks.

How do these elements function? Children’s folklore, in general, fulfils certain 
functions: it reflects and criticizes society and transmits values. For most kids, their 
lore entertains them, teaches them how to manipulate words, helps to develop 
their group identity, and creates a bond. Especially for Black kids, these rhymes 
and songs provide opportunities to practice “handling” authority and inform them 
of their sexual roles.

The sidewalk songs of children’s folklore perform a particularly important 
role in African American culture. When Black youth perform these rhymes and 
songs, they practice and learn to contribute to their rich African American verbal 
culture, a continuing historical legacy. By puberty, if not earlier, Black children 
must learn to “hold their own” for protection from the verbal abuse of their peers, 
sometimes avoiding or allaying physical abuse. It is a common Black custom to be 
able to “rap” oneself out of a street fight or “jive” your parents out of a deserved 
whipping. Therefore, this early verbal play becomes a vital link to what will later 
become “jiving,” “sounding,” “woofing,” or “selling wolf tickets,” especially “the 
dozens,” and eventually “rapping,” all of which are common African American 
verbal-dueling traditions. The dueling, dozens and rapping have been incorrectly 
attributed only to Black male culture. Girls may be the instigators of this tradition, 
and they participate in these early raps frequently with boys. From the start, boys 

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participate and play with girls to varying degrees depending on their exposure to 
sisters, girl cousins, and neighbors. Therefore, a Queen Latifa is no accident, and 
she is not just imitating a male rapping tradition. This is demonstrated in the group 
of youth that I researched, dubbed The Perlita Street Kids by their parents for the 
name of the street on which they lived and played at the time.

Any rules? Each youth is expected to contribute. If one doesn’t know a rhyme, 
he or she is expected to make one up or learn one from someone else. No one 
wants to be known as not able to “talk stuff.” These unspoken rules have existed 
for generations. In some cases, the environment creates a healthy competitive 
spirit, the kind that will produce a “jam” session as in Jazz where no one wins 
but everyone contributes creatively–which is the essence of “jamming” word play, 
and games creatively, communally. In other cases, kids can be cruel and pressure 
or taunt the person into producing, or the person will not be in the game, what 
is called “OUT” a fate considered worse than death. Nevertheless, the resulting 
product is children’s lore, African American style.

Topics range from familiar rhymes and songs to adult-style “bragging” 
strategies. These songs are much more relevant to their day–such as the one 
expressing their knowledge of the existence of crack cocaine. This example 
is sung to a sidewalk dance or stomp (a group line dance popular in Black 
communities long before country music line dances). It is a simple rhyme but 
shows a prophetic awareness of trouble:

Yo momma, yo daddy, they betta leave that pipe alone 
yo sista, yo brotha, they betta leave that crack alone 
yo auntee yo uncle, they betta leave that pipe alone 
Yo family you friends, they betta leave that crack alone

 (they do an elaborate turn)

Do wha’cha wanna, Do wha’cha wanna 
Do wha’cha wanna, Do wha’cha wanna

 (they do an elaborate turn)

Yo momma, yo daddy, they betta leave that pipe alone 
yo sista, yo brotha, they betta leave that crack alone

 — John, Sunni, Treshon, Natasha, Corey, Jason, 2 June 1990 

In this sidewalk song, the children are aware of the impending fate of “crack” 
cocaine addicts. Crack cocaine is an enemy of the people they love, and it 
becomes something to avoid firmly. Here, they perform a prophetic service to 
each other, reminding themselves of the boundaries they must face to achieve a 
long and healthy life.

From these brief examples, it is demonstrated that at an early age in New 
Orleans, African American children actively participate in their verbal development 

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trough the years prior to Katrina devastation. The rhymes were not collected in the 
schoolyard. Like my childhood decades prior, these kids lived in neighborhoods 
within a mile of each other and walked to each other’s homes to play after school. 
They brag, they duel, they dance, they sing of the world as they understand it. 
These rhymes, games, and raps serve to define group identity, address adult 
concerns, and help children learn verbal prowess and entertain one another. These 
sidewalk songs, jump-rope rhymes, and clap-hand games of African American 
children were still strong on the streets of New Orleans throughout the 1990s and 
early 21st century in the historic 7th Ward neighborhoods, as evidenced in the lore 
of the Perlita Street kids.6 

NOTES

1. Many thanks to folklorists Dr. Rosan Jordan and Dr. Frank de Caro, who 
guided and encouraged my early training in folklore; and additional special thanks 
to Dr. Joyce Marie Jackson, also folklorist at LSU, who pushed me to collect, and 
continued to provide opportunities for me to present this work at the African 
Heritage Stage of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival for a series of years.

2. Special thanks to Archivist Rachel Lyons and the New Orleans Jazz and 
Heritage Foundation Archives for saving my work; I am deeply indebted to you 
for all you do.

3. Many of our names can be dated some 300 years and accessible in the older 
resting places, St. Louis cemeteries No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3.

4. This collecting, for two summers at the end of the 1989 and 1980, was 
made possible by generous support from the Michigan State Museum Festival of 
Michigan Folklife, while I was there to present Detroit kids demonstrating Double 
Dutch.

5. I heard numerous variations of this hand-clap rhyme throughout my life in 
Louisiana, and also in Black communities where ever I lived in the Bay Area of 
California and in Detroit and even in Washington D.C. when I visited for research.

6. Once invited, I presented these kids performing their games and rhymes 
at the Louisiana State Folklife Festival twice in the 90s, and numerous times at 
the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival also in the 90s. Presenting our living 
traditions helps folklorists document contemporary culture. Festivals help everyone 
understand each other better and so promote respect as well as employment in 
the field for budding and experienced scholars. Certainly, it taught the children 
of Perlita Street a greater appreciation for their culture, exposed them to other 
cultures in an educational environment, and perhaps helped them develop a 
continued interest in folklore and folklife. Because the children did “perform” their 
traditions, the Jazz Festival paid each child $20.00 for the performance. No child 
participated without parental permission.

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WORKS CITED

Abrahams, Roger D. 1964. Deep Down in the Jungle, Negro Narrative Folklore from 
the Streets of Philadelphia. Hatboro, Pennsylvania: Folklore Associates.

______. 1969. Jump-Rope Rhymes, A Dictionary. Austin: University of Texas Press.
______. 1970. Positively Black. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc.
______. 1976.Talking Black. Rowley, Massachusetts: Newbury House Publishers.
Buckley, Bruce. 1966. Jump-Rope Rhymes: Suggestions for Classification and 

Study. Keystone Folklore Quarterly 2: 99-111.
De Caro, Frank. 1985. A History of Folklife Research in Louisiana. In Louisiana 

Folklife, A Guide to the State, ed. Nicholas R. Spitzer. Baton Rouge: Louisiana 
Folklife Program, Office of Cultural Development, Department of Culture, 
Recreation and Tourism, 125-29.

Dorson, Richard M. 1982. The State of Folkloristics from an American Perspective. 
Journal of the Folklore Institute 19 (2/3, May): 71-105.

Fielding, Alice. 1975. The Folklore of Children from Ages 9-11. Louisiana Folklore 
Miscellany 3 (5): 33-51.

Gaster, Sanford. 1995. Places of Childhood, 1915-30. The Oral History Review 22 
(2, Winter): 1-31. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of the 
Oral History Association. http://www.jstory.org/stable/3675422 (accessed 25, 
March 2010).

Grider, Sylvia Ann. 1980. A Select Bibliography of Childlore. Western Folklore 39 
(3, July): 248-65.

______. 1980. The Study of Children’s Folklore. Western Folklore 39 (3, July): 159-
69.

Hampton, Joan Thompson. 1976-80. Children’s Jump-Rope Rhymes. Louisiana 
Folklore Miscellany 4: 73-81.

Hirschfeld, Lawrence A. 2002. Why Don’t Anthropologists Like Children? American 
Anthropologist, New Series 104 (2, June): 611-27.

Notes. 1971. Louisiana Folklore Miscellany 3 (2): 48-49.
Soileau, Jeanne. 1976-80. Jumping Rope in East Baton Rouge Parish, Louisiana. 

Louisiana Folklore Miscellany 4: 146-154.
______. 1985. Louisiana Children’s Folklore. Louisiana Folklife, A Guide to State. 

Nicholas R. Spitzer, ed. Baton Rouge: Louisiana Folklife Program, Office of 
Cultural Development, Department of Culture, Recreation & Tourism, 12-34.

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