You know the tune. It’s the creepy music box melody that plays right before a plastic clown jumps out and scares a toddler. But the pop goes the weasel lyrics aren’t actually about toys or surprises. They’re a gritty, rhythmic map of 1850s London poverty.
Honestly, it’s kinda dark.
Most of us grew up singing about monkeys chasing weasels around mulberry bushes, which sounds like some weird nature documentary gone wrong. But if you look at the original 19th-century versions, you aren’t looking at animals. You’re looking at a guy who just spent his last cent at the pub and now has to hock his coat to pay for Sunday dinner.
The song is a "social dance" tune, first appearing in sheet music around 1852 or 1853. It was a massive hit. Think of it as the "Macarena" of the Victorian era, but with more references to crippling debt and cheap food.
The "Weasel" Isn't an Animal (and Other Lies Your Nursery Rhyme Told You)
The most common theory—and the one most historians like Iona and Peter Opie point toward—is that "weasel" is Cockney rhyming slang. In the twisted logic of East End London talk, "weasel and stoat" means "coat."
When you "pop" something in Victorian slang, you’re hocking it. Pawning it. You’re handing it over to the guy behind the counter for a few shillings so you can buy food or, more likely, another round of drinks. So, when the "weasel goes pop," it literally means you just pawned your Sunday best coat.
It’s a cycle of desperation.
The lyrics usually start with: "Up and down the City Road / In and out the Eagle."
The Eagle wasn't a bird. It was a notorious pub. Specifically, The Eagle Tavern on the corner of City Road and Shepherdess Walk in Shoreditch. It was a massive music hall and drinking den. You go in, you spend your money on "half a pound of tuppenny rice" (cheap filler food) and a "pennyworth of treacle" (the only thing making the rice edible), and then, because you’re broke, you head to the pawn shop.
Pop.
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There goes your coat.
Why the Lyrics Change Depending on Who You Ask
Folk music is messy. It’s like a centuries-long game of telephone. The version you know probably involves a monkey and a mulberry bush, but that’s a later Americanized addition.
The original British stage versions were much more specific about the geography of London. They mentioned the New River, the Islington area, and the specific cost of goods. By the time the pop goes the weasel lyrics crossed the Atlantic, Americans didn't know what a "weasel and stoat" was, nor did they care about a pub on City Road.
So, we swapped in a monkey.
Why a monkey? Probably because it fit the meter. Also, monkeys were popular in 19th-century street performances—organ grinders often had them. The "mulberry bush" likely got dragged in from "Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush," another nursery rhyme that was popular around the same time. This is how folk music evolves; it’s a Frankenstein’s monster of catchy bits and pieces from other songs.
The Standard "London" Lyrics
Up and down the City Road
In and out the Eagle
That’s the way the money goes
Pop! goes the weasel.
The "American" Nursery Version
All around the mulberry bush
The monkey chased the weasel
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun
Pop! goes the weasel.
The Economics of Tuppenny Rice and Treacle
Let’s talk about the food for a second. It tells us exactly who this song was for.
Tuppenny rice (two-penny rice) was the lowest of the low. It’s what you ate when you couldn't afford meat. It’s bland, it’s heavy, and it’s depressing. Adding a "pennyworth of treacle" (molasses) was the only way to make it palatable for kids.
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This song is basically a rhythmic ledger of a household budget failing in real-time.
"That's the way the money goes."
It’s an admission of defeat. It’s the 1850s equivalent of a tweet about how your entire paycheck just went to rent and Starbucks. People sang it because it was relatable. It turned the tragedy of being poor into a danceable joke.
The Mystery of the Spinning Weasel
Now, to be fair, there is a competing theory. Some textile historians argue the "weasel" refers to a "spinner’s weasel"—a mechanical device used to measure yarn.
When the wheel turned a certain number of times, it would make a "pop" sound to alert the worker they had reached a specific length (usually a "skein").
It’s a clean, logical explanation. It fits the "pop" perfectly.
However, it doesn't fit the rest of the song. Why would you be taking a spinning tool "in and out the Eagle" pub? Why would a tool for professional weavers be linked to "tuppenny rice"? The slang explanation is generally considered more robust by folklorists because it aligns with the rest of the lyrics' focus on spending and losing money in a specific part of London.
The spinning weasel theory is probably an accidental coincidence that people latched onto later because it sounded more "proper" than a song about pawning clothes to buy booze.
Cultural Impact: From Dance Halls to Horror Movies
The song didn't stay in the slums. Queen Victoria’s own dance master, Monsieur Coulon, allegedly helped turn it into a popular social dance. It was the "it" song for a brief window in the mid-19th century.
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Then it became a nursery rhyme.
Then it became the soundtrack to every Jack-in-the-box ever made.
There is something inherently unsettling about the "pop." It’s a sudden, sharp interruption of a repetitive, swirling melody. This is why horror directors love it. It creates a sense of inevitable doom. You know the pop is coming, but the anticipation is what gets you.
When you hear the pop goes the weasel lyrics in a modern context, you’re hearing the ghost of a Victorian struggle, stripped of its context and turned into a game.
Practical Takeaways for History Buffs
If you’re looking to understand the song better or even teach it, stop looking at it as a nonsense poem. It’s a primary source document.
- Visit the Site: The Eagle Tavern still exists in London (though the current building is a Victorian rebuild of the original). There’s even a plaque there mentioning the song.
- Check the Slang: Look into other Cockney rhyming slang from the period. You’ll find that "pop" is still used in parts of the UK today to mean "pawn."
- Analyze the Variations: Compare the 1850s sheet music versions with the 1920s American recordings. You can see the exact moment the song stops being about poverty and starts being about a monkey.
Next time you hear that melody, remember it’s not about a woodland creature. It’s about a guy in Shoreditch who's out of cash, hungry for rice, and heading to the pawn shop with his coat over his arm.
How to Trace the Song's History Yourself
If you want to dig deeper into the evolution of these lyrics, your best bet is to start with the digital archives.
- Search the Bodleian Libraries: The Broadside Ballads Online database has several original printings of the lyrics from the mid-19th century. You’ll see just how many different verses existed before the "monkey" took over.
- Look for the "Crest" Version: There’s a famous version of the sheet music from 1853 that includes "The New Popular Dance." It gives you a sense of how the song was actually performed in high-society ballrooms.
- Read 'The Lore and Language of Schoolchildren': This book by the Opies is the gold standard for nursery rhyme history. They provide a side-by-side comparison of the various regional versions of the song.
Understanding the context changes the way you hear the music. It’s no longer just a kids' song; it’s a 170-year-old social commentary that’s still stuck in our heads. That is the ultimate staying power of a good hook. It outlives the pubs, the pawn shops, and even the people who wrote it.
The coat is long gone, but the "pop" remains.