Dangers of Songcraft, Even Dubious Songcraft

Just when I start explaining the necessity of the brute force I'm about to use--as in, You may not take your stick to bed because you could roll onto it in your sleep and poke yourself, now we're done discussing it, kiddo--Dan very wisely bursts into song, as in:

Mama Pajama rolled out of bed and poked herself with a stick...

So far, so good. The three-year-old is now distracted from our power struggle over the sticks-in-bed issue, and if we can just generate a few more lines of song, I might be able to pry that germy impalement hazard out of his little hands. But Dan doesn't have a next line, so I come up with:

"Ow!" she said, and then I read it all on the cover of Newsweek.

Now Dan is in full on Silly Song Mode:

Well, I'm on my way,
I'm taking the stick downstairs now.
I'm on my way,
I'll put it where you'll play with it in the morning.

Oof. Dan has extricated the stick from Gareth's hands, and lost the thread of the song. Gareth gets the Sad Face, and we're about to go back into Power Struggle Mode. Out of pure desperation, I throw in a line straight out of the original lyrics:

Goodbye Rosie, the Queen of Corona

And Dan ties it all off with:

Which is strangely the name of the stick that I'm carrying downstairs!

Gareth allows the stick to go without further argument, but he requests that I sing this verse to him about a dozen more times before he'll go to sleep, and then he asks for it a dozen more times the next day. The stick is now firmly a Named Stick, Rosie the Queen of Corona, and woe betide Dan and me if we misplace her.