You know the tune. You can probably hear the little "tink-tink" of the piano in your head right now. Skinnamarink is one of those rare artifacts of pop culture that feels like it has just always existed, like sunshine or gravity. It’s the ultimate "sticky" song. Most of us associated it with childhood, specifically through the lens of Sharon, Lois & Bram and their iconic elephant show, but the song actually has a weirdly long and surprisingly commercial history that predates the 1980s by nearly seven decades.
Honestly, it's kinda fascinating how a song from a forgotten Broadway flop became the universal anthem for telling people you love them.
The 1910 Broadway Origins
Most people assume the song was written for children. It wasn't.
The song was originally titled "Skid-dy-mer-ink-adink-aboomp" (the spelling has changed more times than we can count) and it debuted in the 1910 Broadway musical The Echo. It was written by Felix F. Feist and Al Piantadosi. Back then, it was a "novelty" song. Think of it as the 1910 version of a viral TikTok sound. It was catchy, slightly nonsensical, and designed to get people humming as they left the theater.
The lyrics were actually part of a comedic bit. In the original version, the song is set in the jungle, and various animals are singing these "nonsense" syllables to express their feelings. It was a bit of a fad at the time—using gibberish to create a hook. If you look at the sheet music from 1910, the cover features a stylized illustration of a man and a woman, looking very much like a typical vaudeville act, not a group of preschoolers.
Vaudeville was the engine of the music industry back then. If a song worked on a New York stage, it was immediately printed as sheet music and sold to people who would play it on their pianos at home. That's how it spread. It wasn't through Spotify or radio; it was through people physically sitting down and playing the notes.
How the Spelling Spiraled Out of Control
If you try to search for the "correct" way to spell it, you’re gonna have a bad time. There is no official consensus, mostly because the original title was basically an onomatopoeia for a drum beat and a piano flourish.
- Skid-dy-mer-ink-adink-aboomp (The 1910 original)
- Skinnamarink (The Sharon, Lois & Bram standard)
- Skidamarink (The common elementary school spelling)
- Skinnamarinka-dinky-dink (The phonetic mess we all use)
The "boomp" at the end of the original title was meant to represent a bass drum hit. Over time, as the song moved from the vaudeville stage to the playground, the "boomp" evolved into "doo" or just disappeared entirely. The word "Skinnamarink" itself doesn't mean anything. It’s what linguists sometimes call "vocables"—meaningless syllables that serve a musical purpose. It's the "fa-la-la-la-la" of the 20th century.
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The Sharon, Lois & Bram Renaissance
The song could have easily faded into the dusty archives of early 20th-century theater history. Many songs from that era did. But in 1978, a Canadian trio named Sharon, Lois & Bram were putting together their first album, One Elephant, Deux Éléphants.
Lois Lilienstein actually heard the song from her cousin's daughter, who had learned it at a summer camp. This is a classic example of "folk processing." A song travels from a stage, to a camp counselor, to a child, and then finally back to a professional recording artist.
The trio simplified the arrangement. They made it gentler. They added the iconic hand gestures—crossing your arms and grabbing your elbows, then waving. That bit of "choreography" is what turned it from a song into an experience. By the time The Elephant Show started airing on CBC and later Nickelodeon in the mid-80s, the song was cemented as their signature closing number.
Every episode ended with it. It became a ritual. For an entire generation of kids in North America, those four minutes at the end of the show were a lesson in emotional vulnerability. It taught us it was okay to say "I love you" in the morning, in the afternoon, and underneath the moon.
Why Our Brains Can't Let It Go
There is actual science behind why this song is so hard to forget. Musicologists often point to its simple, repetitive structure. It follows a standard Vaudeville "call and response" rhythm.
The melody is incredibly predictable, which our brains love. It uses a "major key" progression that feels inherently safe and comforting. But the real secret is the alliteration and plosives. Words like "dink," "skid," and "skinn-a-ma-rink" require quick tongue movements. They are fun to say. For a toddler learning to speak, these sounds are like a workout for the mouth. For adults, the nostalgic trigger is so strong that hearing just the first three notes can trigger a dopamine release associated with childhood safety.
Interestingly, the song has also been used in horror. Because it's so tied to childhood innocence, filmmakers love to distort it to create a "creepy" atmosphere. If you've seen the 2022 experimental horror film Skinamarink, you know exactly how a song about love can be turned into something deeply unsettling. The movie doesn't actually feature the song (likely due to licensing or creative choice), but the title alone was enough to evoke a sense of primal, childhood dread for many viewers. It shows just how much weight those nonsense syllables carry in our collective psyche.
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The Lyrics: More Than Just Gibberish?
While the main hook is nonsense, the verses are surprisingly structured.
I love you in the morning and in the afternoon,
I love you in the evening and underneath the moon...
This covers the entire cycle of a day. It’s a way of expressing "constant" love. In the 1910 version, the lyrics were much more "flirty" and meant for a romantic couple. The shift to a song for children stripped away the Vaudeville wink-and-nod and turned it into something purely platonic and familial.
Some people have tried to find deeper meanings in "Skinnamarink," suggesting it might have roots in Yiddish or old English slang. Honestly? There isn't much evidence for that. Most musical historians, including those who have archived the works of Feist and Piantadosi, agree it was just "silly talk" meant to fit a syncopated beat.
Real-World Impact and Modern Usage
Even though Sharon, Lois & Bram officially retired from large-scale touring years ago (and we sadly lost Lois in 2015 and Sharon in 2024), the song hasn't skipped a beat.
It’s a staple in "Mommy and Me" classes. It’s a go-to for kindergarten graduation ceremonies. It has been covered by everyone from children’s performers like Raffi to indie bands looking for a touch of irony.
What's really wild is its international reach. You can find versions of the song in dozens of languages, though the "Skinnamarink" part usually stays the same because you can't really translate nonsense. It remains a "top 10" children's song globally, right up there with "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
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Getting the Most Out of the Song Today
If you’re a parent, teacher, or just someone who wants to share a bit of nostalgia, here is how you actually use the song effectively.
Don't just play a video. The whole point of "Skinnamarink" is the interaction.
- The Hand Signs: You have to do the elbow-grab-and-wave. It develops motor skills in kids and, honestly, it’s just fun.
- The Timing: The song is perfect for transitions. Use the "morning/afternoon/evening" lyrics to help kids understand the passage of time.
- Variations: Feel free to change the words. Sharon, Lois & Bram often encouraged kids to add their own verses about who they love or where they love them.
The song isn't a museum piece. It’s a living bit of folk music. Even if the spelling is a nightmare and the origins are in a forgotten 1910 play, the core message is why it’s still here. It’s a simple, catchy way to say something that can sometimes be hard to say.
Actionable Takeaways for Using "Skinnamarink"
If you're looking to introduce this to a new generation or just want to win a trivia night, keep these points in mind.
- Acknowledge the Vaudeville Root: If you’re teaching this in a music class, use it as an example of how "pop" music becomes "folk" music over time. It’s a perfect case study in cultural evolution.
- Use the original tempo: Many modern YouTube versions speed the song up way too much. The magic is in the "swing" rhythm. Keep it at a moderate, "walking" pace to allow the syncopation to work its magic.
- Spelling doesn't matter: Don't stress about how to write it on a chalkboard or in a caption. Every version from "Skidamarink" to "Skinnamarink" is technically "correct" because the word is made up.
- Embrace the "Boomp": If you want to be a purist, bring back the "boomp" at the end of the phrases. It adds a percussive element that kids absolutely love to shout.
The song has survived world wars, the rise and fall of physical media, and the shift from Vaudeville to TikTok. It’ll probably still be around in another 100 years. Whether you're singing it to a toddler or just humming it while you do the dishes, you're participating in a century-old tradition of total, melodic nonsense.
Next time you hear it, remember it started on a smoky stage in New York City in 1910. It’s come a long way just to tell you "I love you."