You probably remember the rhythm first. It’s that sharp, staccato clapping sound against a playground pavement. Or maybe the thrum of a jump rope hitting the asphalt in a steady loop-de-loop. Then the words come back, trailing in like a fever dream from 1954: "Miss Lucy had a baby, she named him Tiny Tim." It’s one of the most enduring pieces of American folklore, but the lady with the alligator purse lyrics are actually a lot weirder—and more historical—than most of us realized when we were seven.
Honestly, it’s a bizarre story. We’re talking about a baby who tries to eat a bathtub and a medical "team" that consists of a doctor, a nurse, and a lady with a very specific choice in handbags.
Kids have been chanting this for generations. But where did it come from? And why does the lady with the purse always seem to have the final, authoritative word over the actual medical professionals?
The Lyrics We All Remember (And the Ones We Forgot)
If you ask ten different people to recite the rhyme, you’ll get ten different versions. That’s the nature of "folk process." It changes as it travels. Most versions start with Miss Lucy (or sometimes Miss Susie or Nellie) putting her baby in the bathtub to see if he could swim.
He drank up all the water. He ate up all the soap. He tried to eat the bathtub, but it wouldn’t go down his throat.
That’s usually when the chaos starts.
Miss Lucy calls the doctor. She calls the nurse. She calls the lady with the alligator purse. In comes the doctor, in comes the nurse, and in comes that famous lady. The diagnosis is always a mess. The doctor says "mumps." The nurse says "measles." But the lady with the alligator purse? She usually says "pizza" or "jello" or—in the more traditional versions—"nonsense."
It’s a power move.
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The doctor gives a pill. The nurse gives a shot (or a prayer, depending on how dark your playground was). But the lady with the purse usually gives the kid something like a lollipop or just tells everyone to go home. She’s the disruptor of the group. She’s the one who doesn't follow the rules of the nursery rhyme medical establishment.
Who Exactly Is the Lady With the Alligator Purse?
There is a long-standing theory in folk circles and among children's literature historians like Iona and Peter Opie—who basically wrote the bible on playground games—that this isn't just a random character.
Many believe the lady is Susan B. Anthony.
Wait, what?
Think about it. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the alligator purse was a massive symbol of the burgeoning women’s rights movement. Most women carried small, dainty fabric bags. An alligator purse was a "briefcase" for a woman who had business to attend to. It was sturdy. It was professional. It meant she had her own money and her own documents. Susan B. Anthony was famously associated with her club-bottomed alligator skin satchel. It became her trademark.
When she walked into a room, she was there to challenge the status quo.
In the rhyme, the doctor and the nurse represent the traditional authorities who fail to fix the problem. They offer medical diagnoses that don't help. Then comes the woman with the purse—the suffragette, the professional, the outsider—who offers a different perspective. Even if that perspective is just "pizza," the subtext is clear: she’s the one in charge.
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Of course, not every historian buys this. Some think she’s just a "new woman" archetype from the turn of the century. Others argue she’s a midwife or a social worker. But the Anthony connection is the one that has the most legs because of how specifically the purse is mentioned. You don't just say "a lady with a bag." It’s the alligator purse.
Why the Rhyme Mutates Depending on Where You Live
Folklore is a living thing. It breathes.
In some parts of the UK, the lyrics swap out the alligator purse for something more local. In some American inner cities in the 70s, the "lady" was sometimes replaced by a "lady with a velvet purse" or even a "lady with a big fat purse."
The "Tiny Tim" character is another weird crossover. This isn't Dickens’ Tiny Tim. It’s more likely a reference to the 1910s era when "Tiny Tim" was a common nickname for anyone small, which eventually got folded into the jump-rope canon. By the time the 1960s rolled around, the rhyme had merged with other songs. You might recognize the "Miss Susie had a steamboat" song, which uses a similar rhythmic structure and often overlaps with the bathtub incident.
Common Regional Variations
- The "Hattie" Version: Sometimes the mom isn't Lucy; she’s Hattie or Sadie.
- The Treatment: While the lady usually says "nonsense," modern versions have her suggesting "ice cream," "soda pop," or "a ticket to the moon."
- The Exit: Usually, the doctor runs, the nurse flies, and the lady with the alligator purse says "goodbye." Or she pays the bill. That’s a common one too—the lady pays the bill because she’s the only one with the purse (the money).
The Rhythm of the Playground
We have to talk about the beat. The reason the lady with the alligator purse lyrics stick is because they are perfectly suited for "double dutch" or clapping games.
It’s an anapestic meter, mostly.
DUM-da-da DUM-da-da DUM-da-da DUM.
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It creates a hypnotic physical loop. When you’re jumping rope, the "in comes the doctor, in comes the nurse" part is usually where a second and third jumper enter the ropes. The "lady with the alligator purse" is the grand finale. She’s the third jumper who has to fit into that tiny spinning space. It’s a test of skill. If you can stay in while the lady "says nonsense," you’ve won the round.
Why Does It Still Matter?
It’s easy to dismiss this as just a kids' song. But these rhymes are actually how oral history survives.
Think about the themes here. You have medical incompetence. You have a domestic crisis (a kid eating soap). You have a mysterious woman who arrives with a specific accessory to solve the problem. It’s a tiny, rhythmic play about social roles.
In 1987, Nadine Bernard Westcott published a famous picture book version of this rhyme. It cemented the imagery for a whole new generation. In her version, the lady is a bit more whimsical, but she still maintains that "I’m taking charge" energy.
The rhyme also teaches kids about the "rule of three." Doctor, Nurse, Lady. It’s a classic storytelling device that shows up in everything from The Three Little Pigs to Goldilocks. It’s how we learn to structure narratives before we even know what a "narrative" is.
How to Use These Lyrics Today
If you’re a parent or a teacher, these lyrics are actually a goldmine for development.
- Phonological Awareness: The rhyme scheme (nurse/purse, Tim/swim, soap/throat) is great for early literacy.
- History Lessons: You can actually use the "alligator purse" as a jumping-off point to talk about the suffrage movement or how women’s roles changed in the early 1900s.
- Creative Writing: Ask a kid what else could be in that purse. Why does she have it? Where is she going? It’s a character study in ten words.
Basically, the lady with the alligator purse is the original "girlboss," long before that term became a cringe-worthy corporate buzzword. She had the bag, she had the answers, and she didn't care what the doctor thought about the measles.
Putting the Pieces Together
To really get the most out of this piece of folklore, you have to look at it as a bridge between the Victorian era and the modern playground. It survived the transition from radio to TV to the internet. Why? Because the rhythm is infectious and the imagery is just weird enough to stay interesting.
If you're trying to teach the rhyme or just want to relive the nostalgia, keep the beat steady. Don't worry too much about the "correct" words. Folklore belongs to the person telling it. If you want the lady to say "tacos" instead of "nonsense," go for it. That’s how the song stays alive.
Actionable Next Steps
- Compare Versions: Check out the Opies’ The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren if you want to see the truly dark, original versions of these playground rhymes.
- Teach the Beat: If you’re working with kids, use the rhyme to practice steady beat coordination—try the "cross-over" clap where you hit your knees, then your hands, then your partner's hands.
- Research the Satchel: Look up the "Susan B. Anthony Alligator Purse" at the Smithsonian. Seeing the actual object makes the rhyme feel a lot more grounded in real-world rebellion.