Who’ll be Bulldog? Who’ll be It?
And who will wear the crown?
Who’ll take a candle up to bed?
And who’ll come tumbling down?

Who’ll be bridesmaid? Who’ll be bride?
Who’ll have ten thousand men?
Who’ll be doctor? Who’ll be nurse?
Who’ll not get up again?

Who’ll be blind man? Who’ll be thief?
Who’ll kiss the girls? Who’ll cry?
Who’ll be Grandma, Mister Wolf?
Who’ll cross his heart? Who’ll lie?

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor
Who’ll be the last to know?
Harum scare’em rip’em tear’em
Who’ll be full of woe?

Who’ll be farmer in his den?
Who’ll tell the truth? Who’ll dare?
Who’ll be the one left standing when
The circle’s less a chair?

O –
U –
T –
Spells
Cat. The odd one out. Went off her head:
It came to picking sides and she picked dead.

Eeny meeny miny moe
The rest of us gave life a go:

Who’ll get the house? Who’ll keep the kids?
Who’ll fuck the boss? Who’ll fuck his wife?
Poor Cat, she must have flipped her lid.
While those of us who plumped for life:

Have mired ourselves in work and booze
And frigid wives and married men
And other things we didn’t choose
And didn’t have the words for, then.