If you spent any time on a school bus or at a summer camp in the last fifty years, you probably heard it. Or sang it. You might have even been the kid leading the chorus while everyone else made gagging noises. I’m talking about that bizarre, visceral, and slightly disturbing anthem: great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts.
It’s gross. It’s nonsensical. Honestly, it’s a masterpiece of childhood rebellion.
While adults were trying to get us to memorize the "Star-Spangled Banner" or some dusty folk song about a canal, we were busy debating whether the gopher guts should be "greasy" or "bloody." We were preoccupied with the structural integrity of mutilated monkey meat. This isn't just a song; it's a rite of passage. It represents that specific window of time when the grossest possible thing you could imagine was also the funniest thing in the world.
The Many Versions of the Great Big Gobs of Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts Lyrics
One of the weirdest things about this song is that nobody ever sat down to write a definitive version. There is no "official" sheet music filed away in the Library of Congress. Instead, it’s a piece of oral history, passed down from older siblings to younger ones like a sticky, gross baton.
Most people start with the classic opening:
Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat,
Dirty little birdie feet...
But then it diverges. In some zip codes, you’ve got "chopped up little birdie feet." In others, it’s "mangled monkey meat." My cousin from Jersey swore the next line was about "French-fried eyeballs swimming in a pool of blood," which felt a bit extreme even for me.
The ending usually brings it all home with a culinary twist. You’re told that you forgot your spoon, but it doesn't matter because you’ll use a straw instead. Or, if you’re particularly unlucky, "I forgot my spoon, but I brought my straw!" Followed, of course, by a loud, wet slurping sound.
The variations are endless. I've heard versions that include evaporated milk, pickled pig's feet, and even "percolated" bird spit. It’s a regional dialect of the disgusting. folklorists actually study this stuff—it's called "children's street rhymes," and it follows the same patterns as ancient myths, just with more entrails.
Where Did This Madness Come From?
You might think some twisted genius in the 1970s came up with this. Nope. The roots go back much further, and they’re surprisingly melodic.
The tune itself is a "parody" (if we're being generous) of "The Old Gray Mare," a song that dates back to the early 20th century. "The Old Gray Mare" was a popular ragtime-era tune, often attributed to J. Warner in 1915, though it likely had folk roots before that. It’s a jaunty, upbeat melody. It’s the kind of song you’d hear at a county fair.
Then, somewhere along the line, kids decided the horse wasn’t interesting enough. They needed gore.
According to Dr. Elizabeth Tucker, a folklorist at Binghamton University who literally wrote the book on children's folklore (Children's Folklore: A Handbook), these types of songs serve a purpose. They allow kids to play with "taboo" subjects like death, decay, and bodily fluids in a safe, silly way. It’s a form of mastery. If you can sing about gopher guts, you aren't afraid of them. Sorta.
By the 1940s and 50s, versions of the greasy grimy gopher guts lyrics were already circulating in summer camps across North America. It gained a massive boost in the late 20th century through pop culture. Shows like Barney & Friends (oddly enough) and various children's songbooks included sanitized or "safe" versions, but the playground stayed true to the grime.
Why We Can't Stop Singing About Mutilated Monkey Meat
Why does this specific imagery stick? Why not "Soggy Sandwiches" or "Broken Bananas"?
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It’s the alliteration. Read those words again: Greasy. Grimy. Gopher. Guts. It feels good in your mouth. Those hard "G" sounds are percussive. It’s satisfying to say. Then you hit the "Mutilated Monkey Meat." The "M" sounds are softer but the imagery is sharper. It’s a linguistic rollercoaster that appeals to a child's developing sense of wordplay.
Also, it’s a direct middle finger to the "cleanliness is next to godliness" vibe most parents push. We spend our childhoods being told to wash our hands, not to touch dirt, and to eat our vegetables. This song is the ultimate protest. It’s a celebration of the messy, the forbidden, and the flat-out revolting.
Think about the "French-fried eyeballs" line. It combines something familiar and "tasty" (French fries) with something horrifying (eyeballs). That juxtaposition is the heart of "gross-out" humor. It’s the same reason Garbage Pail Kids were a hit or why kids still love slime.
The "Official" (If Such a Thing Exists) Lyrics
If you’re trying to teach this to a new generation or just want to settle a bet at a dive bar, here is the most common "standard" version of the great big gobs of greasy grimy gopher guts lyrics:
Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat,
Dirty little birdie feet.
Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
And me without my spoon!
But I brought my straw!
(Slurp, slurp, slurp)
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Now, if you want to get fancy, here is the "Extended Gore" version:
Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat,
Little birdie's bloody feet.
French-fried eyeballs swimming in a pool of blood,
And I forgot my spoon!
But I brought my straw!
And a big ol' piece of bread!
Actually, I once met someone from Oregon who insisted there was a verse about "squeezed out lizard livers." I’ve never heard that anywhere else. That’s the beauty of it. It’s a living document. It evolves based on whatever animals are locally available for imaginary mutilation.
The Cultural Impact of the Gopher
It’s easy to dismiss this as "just a kid thing," but this song has real staying power. It appeared in the 1984 film Revenge of the Nerds. It’s been referenced in countless cartoons. It’s part of our collective DNA.
It represents a time before the internet, when memes weren't images on a screen but rhymes yelled across a playground. You couldn't "Google" the lyrics in 1982. You had to listen carefully to the big kids and hope you didn't mess it up and look like a loser.
There’s also something to be said about the dark humor inherent in childhood. We live in a world that can be scary. Gophers die. Animals get hurt. By turning these realities into a ridiculous, over-the-top song, kids take the power back. It’s not scary if it’s "greasy and grimy" and you're eating it with a straw. It’s just funny.
How to Keep the Tradition Alive
If you have kids, nieces, or nephews, you have a moral obligation to pass this on. It’s much more important than teaching them how to use a tablet.
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- Wait for a quiet moment. Maybe a long car ride or a hike.
- Start humming the tune. Don't jump right into the lyrics. Let the melody build anticipation.
- Drop the first line. Watch their eyes widen. They’ll either be horrified or they’ll instantly want to know more.
- Encourage "Remixing." If they don't like gophers, suggest squirrels. If they find birdie feet boring, go for shark brains. The song thrives on creativity.
Honestly, in a world that feels increasingly sanitized and monitored, there is something deeply refreshing about a song that is just... gross. No lesson. No moral. No "call to action." Just a bunch of kids singing about guts.
What to do next
If you're feeling nostalgic, look up the tune of "The Old Gray Mare" to make sure you've got the rhythm right. Then, the next time you're at a family gathering or a campfire, wait for a lull in the conversation and drop a line about the monkey meat. You'll be surprised how many adults immediately join in. It's the one thing that connects Gen X, Millennials, and Gen Z—the shared knowledge of exactly how gross a gopher's guts can be.
Check your local library’s "folklore" section if you want to find more of these regional rhymes; books by Iona and Peter Opie are the gold standard for this stuff, though they focus more on British variations. You’ll find that "Gopher Guts" is just the tip of a very messy iceberg.