Which Musical Artists Covered Ten In A Bed With New Arrangements?

I've sung all kinds of nursery rhymes to little cousins and neighborhood kids, and 'Ten in a Bed' definitely travels well — in one form or another it shows up in lots of languages. Picture-book editions and children’s music collections often translate or adapt it: Spanish versions typically show up as 'Diez en la cama' or 'Diez en la cama', French as 'Dix dans un lit', German as 'Zehn in einem Bett', Dutch as 'Tien in een bed', and Portuguese as 'Dez na cama'. You can also find Nordic variants like Swedish 'Tio i sängen' and Danish/Norwegian 'Ti i sengen', and Slavic renditions such as Russian 'Десять в кровати' or Polish 'Dziesięć w łóżku'. Beyond literal translations, many editions make cultural or rhythmic changes — sometimes the ten are teddy bears, animals, or even little boats, because the syllable count and rhyme scheme need tweaking in other tongues. Penny Dale’s illustrated board-book 'Ten in a Bed' has been adapted worldwide, and the melody/chanting style often gets preserved in audio/video versions on YouTube or streaming playlists. If you’re hunting for a specific language, I usually search for "'Ten in a Bed'" plus the language name (or try native-script keywords like 'Десять в кровати' for Russian), and check library catalogues, bilingual nursery rhyme books, or international children’s music channels. If you like tinkering, translating as you sing is fun: swap in local number words and a familiar bedtime object, and it still works. It’s one of those songs that teaches counting and sharing a laugh — and it’s delightful to hear it in a language you’re learning or to teach kids a number in another tongue.

I get oddly nostalgic when I think about nursery rhymes—there’s something about a bouncing chorus that makes a day feel softer. If you’re hunting for video takes on 'Ten in a Bed', the ones that get shared the most fall into a few recognizable camps. Big YouTube nursery-rhyme channels typically have slick, sing-along animations: think bright, looping backgrounds and cute animal characters that tumble out of a bed one by one. Channels that specialize in kids’ sing-alongs—like 'Super Simple Songs' or 'Little Baby Bum'—usually do a version that’s perfect for toddlers because it’s rhythmic and visual-counting friendly. Then there are read-aloud/bookish adaptations. The picture-book 'Ten in a Bed' by Penny Dale has been turned into storytime videos and read-alouds where the narrator flips through the illustrations while adding gentle sound effects. Those feel cozier and are great for bedtime. I’ve also seen puppet and live-action preschool segments—local TV blocks and small theater groups sometimes stage a short, physical-performance version with plush toys or soft puppets, and those have an old-school charm. If you want something quirkier, indie animators sometimes make short stop-motion versions using plushies or Lego, which are fun for slightly older kids. If you’re choosing one to play for a little one, think about whether you want interaction (sing-along subtitles or counting prompts), calmness (soft narration), or silly energy (bouncy animation). Personally, the animated sing-alongs are my go-to for car rides, while the book read-aloud versions win for bedtime. Each style brings its own small magic, and I like to mix them up depending on the mood.

When I'm prepping a sing-along or bedtime playlist I usually check a mix of community and commercial sources for 'Ten in a Bed'. Musescore is my first stop because people upload everything there — simple vocal melodies, piano accompaniments, and sometimes multi-voice arrangements. You can download in PDF or MusicXML, and if something's almost right I open it up and tweak it. For clean, print-ready copies I look at Musicnotes and Sheet Music Plus. They charge, but you get transposable parts and good engraving. Teachers Pay Teachers and Twinkl are lifesavers for classroom-friendly sheets: big notes, chord lead sheets, and activity pages. If you want free options, 8notes and Free-scores occasionally have versions, and you'll also find PDFs linked on music-teacher blogs. One little trick I picked up is searching for alternate titles like 'There Were Ten in the Bed' — librarians and old song collections sometimes list it that way. If none of that works, I record the melody on my phone and create a quick lead sheet in MuseScore: the tune sits fine in C major with simple chords (C — G7 — C, slip in an F for variety). That way I have exactly what I need for the kids or a casual gathering.

I've sung that bouncing chorus with a toddler on my knee more times than I can count, so this question hits a sweet spot for me. The short, practical truth is: the traditional nursery rhyme 'Ten in the Bed' — the basic lyrics and melody that have circulated orally for generations — is effectively in the public domain. Folk songs and nursery rhymes that don't have a clear modern author and that were published long ago typically fall into public domain territory, especially in places like the U.S. where music published before 1927 is generally free to use. That said, there are important caveats that trip up creators all the time. A modern recorded performance of the song, a unique arrangement, or a newly written verse is protected by copyright. So if you want to use a specific YouTube recording, an illustrator’s book version, or a contemporary arrangement with fresh harmonies, you’ll likely need permission or a license. Even sheet music with a particular arrangement can carry its own rights. And don't forget there are two separate rights often involved: the composition (lyrics/melody) and the sound recording (the actual performance). Using someone else’s recording without clearance can get you flagged, even if the melody itself is public domain. My go-to workaround when I made a silly nursery-rhyme montage for friends was to record a fresh version myself (even a phone mic works), or to hunt for recordings explicitly labeled as public domain or Creative Commons with the right permissions. If you’re planning something commercial, it’s worth a quick rights check or asking a professional. For casual singalongs and classroom use, you’re usually safe with the traditional words, but when in doubt I like to err on the side of making my own spin — it’s fun and avoids headaches.

On rainy afternoons when I'm babysitting, the chorus of 'Ten in the Bed' often pops up like it has its own little gravitational pull. I’ve always been curious about how such a simple counting song became so ubiquitous — it’s not rocket science, but there’s a neat mix of history and human behavior behind it. The rhyme likely grew out of oral tradition in English-speaking communities; folks passed it around in nurseries, on long railway trips, and during family gatherings. Early printed collections of children's songs helped lock in a version, but the real engine of popularity was repetition: the tune is short, the structure is sequential, and children love watching the numbers fall. What hooked me — besides the way my little cousin giggles when someone gets a playful “rolled over” — is how perfectly the rhyme fits both learning and play. It’s a counting-down song that doubles as a physical game: children can stack up toys, pretend to fall out of bed, or act it out with finger puppets. That kinesthetic element makes it stick in memory much better than a dry lesson. Over time, nursery schools, bedtime storybooks, audiotapes, and later streaming kids’ channels borrowed and adapted the song, so multiple generations learned it in slightly different forms. That network effect — home, school, media — turned a simple ditty into an evergreen. If you ever want to see why songs like 'Ten in the Bed' endure, try singing a verse with a different instrument or changing the scenario (pillow fort, sofa, camping mat). The tune survives because it’s flexible, silly, and social — and honestly, I still smile every time the last one’s left alone on the mattress.

On slow mornings when the rug smells faintly of crayons and someone’s still in pajamas, I like to turn 'Ten in the Bed' into a tiny ritual of discovery. Start with the song and ten small toys or stuffed animals lined up on a blanket. I sing the verse once through and then pause to have the kids show me how many are left after one “rolls out.” That pause is gold: it’s where counting, hands-on subtraction, and prediction happen. After a few rounds, I ask different kids to be the counter, to place the toys on a ten-frame (or two five-frames) so they can see the pattern of “one less” each time. I vary the activity by using a dice or a spinner — sometimes two animals tumble out, and we practice saying “ten minus two equals eight” but in playful language: “Oh no, two tumbled! How many are still snuggling?” I also layer in movement: for older groups we count backwards from ten while doing jumping jacks, and for very young learners I let them press down a finger on a hand chart each verse. Beyond the counting itself, I tie it to drawing and emergent writing. Kids draw a bed and write numerals, or we make a class book called 'How Many Are Left?' with photos from our circle time. I watch for who can subitize on the ten-frame, who needs one-to-one correspondence practice, and who’s ready to write equations. It’s cozy, repeatable, and surprisingly revealing of a child’s number sense — plus no one minds singing the chorus again.

I still hum that bouncy little tune on sleepy evenings — 'Ten in the Bed' has always felt like one of those shared campfire songs that everyone knows but no one claims as their own. As far as the historic record goes, there’s no single credited writer: it’s a traditional children’s rhyme that grew up in oral tradition. That means people passed it from parent to child, and small changes accumulated until lots of slightly different versions existed across English-speaking countries. Folklorists treat 'Ten in the Bed' like many nursery rhymes — anonymous and communal. In modern times, the rhyme got an extra pop of popularity because of picture-book adaptations, most famously the charming illustrated book by Penny Dale called 'Ten in the Bed', which brought the song into story-time rotations in libraries and classrooms. That book doesn’t claim to be the original composer, it’s more of a retelling that helped cement the lyrics and pacing for a new generation. What I like about knowing it’s traditional is how adaptable it is: you can use it as a countdown for teaching numbers, a finger-play while bouncing a baby, or a silly group game where everyone rolls over on a couch (carefully). So when folks ask “who wrote it,” the honest, slightly romantic reply is: nobody and everybody — it’s a piece of shared culture that belonged to families long before it got printed.

Most evenings I find myself humming something soft while tucking kids in, and 'Ten in the Bed' comes up more often than you'd think. There's a cozy predictability to it: a steady melody, a repetitive line about rolling over, and that gentle countdown. For me, the counting element is the secret sauce — it gives the child something concrete to follow when their thoughts are racing. Instead of an abstract “sleep now,” the rhyme guides them through a simple arithmetic of getting smaller and quieter, which mirrors how they physically and mentally settle down. On top of that, the song invites play. When I sing 'Ten in the Bed' with my niece, she acts out the rolling over part, pressing a knee into the mattress and giggling. That playful movement burns off little sparks of energy so they're actually calmer when the lights go out. It also becomes a ritual: the same tune, the same words, the same small gestures. Rituals are powerful for kids — they create safety and expectation. Parents latch onto songs like this because they work: they soothe, teach counting in an unthreatening way, and create a shared, silly moment before sleep. I also think parents like it because it’s short and flexible. You can stretch or shorten verses, whisper or sing, and adapt the lyrics for one child or a pile of them. That adaptability makes 'Ten in the Bed' a perfect bedtime ally, especially on the nights you need a little magic (or a distraction).