In both the 1973 Willy Wonka film and the more recent 2006 Charlie film, the Oompa-Loompas sing original songs that weren’t in the books. But I always liked the songs from the books better! So here’s The Official Oompa-Loompa Songbook, featuring the poems as they originally appeared in the text. Which, in my mind, are WAY better than “Oompa Loompa doompity do…”

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“Augustus Gloop…”

(from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

“Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop!

The great big greedy nincompoop!

How long could we allow this beast

To gorge and guzzle, feed and feast

On everything he wanted to?

Great Scott! It simply wouldn’t do!

However long this pig might live,

We’re positive he’d never give

Even the smallest bit of fun

Or happiness to anyone.

So what we do in cases such

As this, we use the gentle touch,

And carefully we take the brat

And turn him into something that

Will give great pleasure to us all–

A doll, for instance, or a ball,

Or marbles or a rocking horse.

But this revolting boy, of course,

Was so unutterably vile,

So greedy, foul, and infantile

He left a most disgusting taste

Inside our mouths, and so in haste

We chose a thing that, come what may,

Would take the nasty taste away.

‘Come on!’ we cried, ‘The time is ripe

To send him shooting up the pipe!

He has to go! It has to be!’

And very soon, he’s going to see

Inside the room to which he’s gone

Some funny things are going on.

But don’t, dear children, be alarmed;

Augustus Gloop will not be harmed,

Although, of course, we must admit

He will be altered quite a bit.

He’ll be quite changed from what he’s been,

When he goes through the fudge machine:

Slowly, the wheels go round and round,

The cogs begin to grind and pound;

A hundred knives go slice, slice, slice;

We add some sugar, cream, and spice;

We boil him for a minute more,

Until we’re absolutely sure

That all the greed and all the gall

Is boiled away for once and all.

Then out he comes! And now! By grace!

A miracle has taken place!

This boy, who only just before

Was loathed by men from shore to shore,

This greedy brute, this louse’s ear,

Is loved by people everywhere!

For who could hate or bear a grudge

Against a luscious bit of fudge?”

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“Violet Beauregarde…”

(from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

“Dear friends, we surely all agree

There’s almost nothing worse to see

Than some repulsive little bum

Who’s always chewing chewing gum.

(It’s very near as bad as those

Who sit around and pick the nose).

So please believe us when we say

That chewing gum will never pay;

This sticky habit’s bound to send

The chewer to a sticky end.

Did any of you ever know

A person called Miss Bigelow?

This dreadful woman saw no wrong

In chewing, chewing all day long.

She chewed while bathing in the tub,

She chewed while dancing at her club,

She chewed in church and on the bus;

It really was quite ludicrous!

And when she couldn’t find her gum,

She’d chew up the linoleum,

Or anything that happened near–

A pair of boots, the postman’s ear,

Or other people’s underclothes,

And once she chewed her boy friend’s nose.

She went on chewing till, at last,

Her chewing muscles grew so vast

That from her face her giant chin

Stuck out just like a violin.

For years and years she chewed away,

Consuming fifty packs a day,

Until one summer’s eve, alas,

A horrid business came to pass.

Miss Bigelow went late to bed,

For half an hour she lay and read,

Chewing and chewing all the while

Like some great clockwork crocodile.

At last, she put her gum away

Upon a special little tray,

And settled back and went to sleep–

(She managed this by counting sheep).

But now, how strange! Although she slept,

Those massive jaws of hers still kept

On chewing, chewing through the night,

Even with nothing there to bite.

They were, you see, in such a groove

They positively had to move.

And very grim it was to hear

In pitchy darkness, loud and clear,

This sleeping woman’s great big trap

Opening and shutting, snap-snap-snap!

Faster and faster, chop-chop-chop,

The noise went on, it wouldn’t stop.

Until at last her jaws decide

To pause and open extra wide,

And with the most tremendous chew

They bit the lady’s tongue in two.

Thereafter, just from chewing gum,

Miss Bigelow was always dumb,

And spent her life shut up in some

Disgusting sanatorium.

And that is why we’ll try so hard

To save Miss Violet Beauregard

From suffering an equal fate.

She’s still quite young. It’s not too late,

Provided she survives the cure.

We hope she does. We can’t be sure.”

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“Veruca Salt…”

(from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

“Veruca Salt, the little brute,

Has just gone down the garbage chute,

(And as we very rightly thought

That in a case like this we ought

To see the thing completely through,

We’ve polished off her parents, too.)

Down goes Veruca! Down the drain!

And here, perhaps, we should explain

That she will meet, as she descends,

A rather different set of friends

To those that she has left behind–

These won’t be nearly so refined.

A fish head, for example, cut

This morning from a halibut.

‘Hello! Good morning! How d’you do?

How nice to meet you! How are you?’

And then a little further down

A mass of others gather round:

A bacon rind, some rancid lard,

A loaf of bread gone stale and hard,

A steak that nobody could chew,

An oyster from an oyster stew,

Some liverwurst so old and gray

One smelled it from a mile away,

A rotten nut, a reeky pear,

A thing the cat left on the stair,

And lots of other things as well,

Each with a rather horrid smell.

These are Veruca’s new found friends

That she will meet as she descends,

And this is the price she has to pay

For going so very far astray.

But now, my dears, we think you might

Be wondering–is it really right

That every single bit of blame

And all the scolding and the shame

Should fall upon Veruca Salt?

Is she the only one at fault?

For though she’s spoiled, and dreadfully so,

A girl can’t spoil herself, you know.

Who spoiled her, then? Ah, who indeed?

Who pandered to her every need?

Who turned her into such a brat?

Who are the culprits? Who did that?

Alas! You needen’t look so far

To find out who these sinners are.

They are (and this is very sad)

Her loving parents, MUM and DAD.

And that is why we’re glad they fell

Into the garbage chute as well.”

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“Mike Teavee…”

(from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory)

“The most important thing we’ve learned,

So far as children are concerned,

Is never, NEVER, NEVER let

Them near your television set–

Or better still, just don’t install

The idiotic thing at all.

In almost every house we’ve been,

We’ve watched them gaping at the screen.

They loll and slop and lounge about,

And stare until their eyes pop out.

(Last week in someone’s place we saw

A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)

They sit and stare and stare and sit

Until they’re hypnotised by it,

Until they’re absolutely drunk

With all the shocking ghastly junk.

Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,

They don’t climb out the window sill,

They never fight or kick or punch,

They leave you free to cook the lunch

And wash the dishes in the sink–

But did you ever stop to think,

To wonder just exactly what

This does to your beloved tot?

IT ROTS THE SENSES IN THE HEAD!

IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!

IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!

IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND

HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND

A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!

HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!

HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!

HE CANNOT THINK–HE ONLY SEES!

‘All right!’ you’ll cry. ‘All right!’ you’ll say,

‘But if we take the set away,

What shall we do to entertain

Our darling children? Please explain!’

We’ll answer this by asking you,

‘What used the darling ones to do?

‘How used they keep themselves contented

Before this monster was invented?’

Have you forgotten? Don’t you know?

We’ll say it very loud and slow:

THEY…USED…TO…READ! They’d READ and READ,

AND READ and READ, and then proceed

To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!

One half their lives was reading books!

The nursery shelves held books galore!

Books cluttered up the nursery floor!

And in the bedroom, by the bed,

More books were waiting to be read!

Such wondrous, fine, fantastic takes

Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales

And treasure isles, and distant shores

Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,

And pirates wearing purple pants,

And sailing ships and elephants,

And cannibals crouching ’round the pot,

Stirring away at something hot.

(It smells so good, what can it be?

Good gracious, it’s Penelope.)

The younger ones had Beatrix Potter

With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,

And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,

And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and–

Just How The Camel Got His Hump,

And How The Monkey Lost His Rump,

And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,

There’s Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole–

Oh, books, what books they used to know,

Those children living long ago!

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,

Go throw your TV set away,

And in its place you can install

A lovely bookshelf on the wall.

Then fill the shelves with lots of books,

Ignoring all the dirty looks,

The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,

And children hitting you with sticks–

Fear not, because we promise you

That, in about a week or two

Of having nothing else to do,

They’ll now begin to feel the need

Of having something good to read.

And once they start–oh boy, oh boy!

You watch the slowly growing joy

That fills their hears. They’ll grow so keen

They’ll wonder what they’d ever seen

In that ridiculous machine,

That nauseating, foul, unclean,

Repulsive television screen!

And later, each and every kid

Will love you more for what you did.

P.S. Regarding Mike Teavee,

We very much regret that we

Shall simply have to wait and see

If we can get him back his height.

But if we can’t–it serves him right.”

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“Wonka-vite…”

(from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator)

“If you are old and have the shakes,

If all your bones are full of aches,

If you can hardly walk at all,

If living drives you up the wall,

If you’re a grump and full of spite,

If you’re a human parasite,

THEN WHAT YOU NEED IS WONKA-VITE!

Your eyes will shine, your hair will grow,

Your face and skin will start to glow,

Your rotten teeth will all drop ou

And in their place new teeth will sprout.

Those rolls of fat around your hips

Will vanish, and your wrinkled lips

Will get so soft and rosy-pink

That all the boys will smile and wink

And whisper secretly that this

Is just the girl they want to kiss!

But wait! For that is not the most

Important thing of which to boast.

Good looks you’ll have, we’ve told you so,

But looks aren’t everything, you know.

Each pill, as well, to you will give

AN EXTRA TWENTY YEARS TO LIVE!

So come, old friends, and do what’s right!

Let’s make your lives as bright as bright!

Let’s take a dose of this delight!

This heavenly magic dynamite!

You can’t go wrong, you must go right!

IT’S WILLY WONKA’S WONKA-VITE!”

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“Goldie Pinklesweet…”

(from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator)

“Attention please! Attention please!

Don’t dare to talk! Don’t dare to sneeze!

Don’t doze or daydream! Stay awake!

Your health, your very life’s at stake!

Ho-ho, you say, they can’t mean me.

Ha-ha, we answer, wait and see.

Did any of you ever meet

A child called Goldie Pinklesweet?

Who on her seventh birthday went

To stay with Granny down in Kent.

At lunchtime on the second day

Of dearest little Goldie’s stay,

Granny announced, ‘I’m going down

To do some shopping in the town.’

(D’you know why Granny didn’t tell

The child to come along as well?

She’s going to the nearest inn

To buy herself a double gin.)

So out she creeps. She shuts the door.

And Goldie, aftermaking sure

That she is really by herself,

Goes quickly to the medicine shelf,

And there, her little greedy eyes

See pills of every shape and size,

Such fascinating colors too –

Some green, some pink, some brown, some blue.

‘All right,’ she says, ‘let’s try the brown,’

She takes one pill and gulps it down.

‘Yum-yum!’ she cries. ‘Hooray! What fun!

They’re chocolate-coated, every one!’

She gobbles five, she gobbles ten,

She stops her gobbling only when

The last pill’s gone. There are no more.

Slowly she rises from the floor.

She stops. She hiccups. Dear, oh dear,

She starts to feel a trifle queer.

You see, how could young Goldie know,

For nobody had told her so,

That Grandmama, her old relation

Suffered from frightful constipation.

This meant that every night she’d give

Herself a powerful laxative,

And all the medicines that she’d bought

Were naturally of this sort.

The pink and red and blue and green

Were all extremely strong and mean.

But far more fierce and meaner still,

Was Granny’s little chocolate pill.

Its blast effect was quite uncanny.

It used to shake up even Granny.

In point of fact she did not dare

To use them more than twice a year.

So can you wonder little Goldie

Began to feel a wee bit moldy?

Inside her tummy, something stirred.

A funny gurgling sound was heard,

And then, oh dear, from deep within,

The ghastly rumbling sounds begin!

They rumbilate and roar and boom!

They bounce and echo round the room!

The floorboards shake and from the wall

Some bits of paint and plaster fall.

Explosions, whistles, awful bangs

Were followed by the loudest clangs.

(A man next door was heard to say,

‘A thunderstorm is on the way.’)

But on and on the rumbling goes.

A window cracks, a lamp-bulb blows.

Young Goldie clutched herself and cried,

‘There’s something wrong with my inside!’

This was, we very greatly fear,

The understatement of the year.

For wouldn’t any child feel crummy,

With loud explosions in her tummy?

Granny, at half past two, came in,

Weaving a little from the gin,

But even so she quickly saw

The empty bottle on the floor.

‘My precious laxatives!’ she cried.

‘I don’t feel well,’ the girl replied.

Angrily Grandma shook her head.

‘I’m really not surprised,’ she said.

‘Why can’t you leave my pills alone?’

With that, she grabbed the telephone

And shouted, ‘Listen, send us quick

An ambulance! A child is sick!

It’s number fifty, Fontwell Road!

Come fast! I think she might explode!’

We’re sure you do not wish to hear

About the hospital and where

They did a lot of horrid things

With stomach-pumps and rubber rings.

Let’s answer what you want to know;

Did Goldie live or did she go?

The doctors gathered round her bed,

‘There’s really not much hope,’ they said.

‘She’s going, going, gone!’ they cried.

‘She’s had her chips! She’s dead! She’s died!”

‘I’m not so sure,’ the child replied.

And all at once she opened wide

Her great big bluish eyes and sighed,

And gave the anxious docs a wink,

And said, ‘I’ll be okay, I think.’

So Goldie lived and back she went

At first to Granny’s place in Kent.

Her father came the second day

And fetched her in a Chevrolet,

And drove her to their home in Dover.

But Goldie’s troubles were not over.

You see, if someone takes enough

Of any highly dangerous stuff,

One will invariably find

Some traces of it left behind.

It pains us greatly to relate

That Goldie suffered from this fate.

She’d taken such a massive fill

Of this unpleasant kind of pill,

It got into her blood and bones,

It messed up all her chromosomes,

It made her constantly upset,

And she could never really get

The beastly stuff to go away.

And so the girl was forced to stay

For seven hours every day

Within the everlasting gloom

Of what we call The Ladies Room.

And after all, the W.C.

Is not the gayest place to be.

So now, before it is too late.

Take heed of Goldie’s dreadful fate.

And seriously, all jokes apart,

Do promise us across your heart

That you will never help yourself

To medicine from the medicine shelf.”

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