Years ago, in a land far away, I met a lovely woman who told me a great story about her kid.
He was about six, and he was given one of those nusery rhyme CDs for his birthday. He loved it, learnt all the songs and used to sing them in the bath.
One day, his mother heard him belting out at the top of his voice but, when he got to a certain line, he whispered instead of singing.
She asked him why, and he said, clearly uncomfortable, that there were "bad words" in the song.
"What bad words?" she asked him, confused.
And so, awkwardly, he sang to his mother:
"Old King Cole was a merry arsehole and a merry arsehole was he..."