THREE little bugs in a basket, And hardly room for two!
And one was yellow, and one was black, And one like me, or you.
The space was small, no doubt, for all; But what should three bugs do?
Three little bugs in a basket, And hardly crumbs for two;
And all were selfish in their hearts, The same as I or you;
So the strong ones said, "We will eat the bread, And that is what we'll do."
Three little bugs in a basket, And the beds but two would hold;
So they all three fell to quarrelling— The white, and the black, and the gold;
And two of the bugs got under the rugs, And one was left out in the cold!
So he that was left in the basket, Without a crumb to chew,
Or a thread to wrap himself withal, When the wind across him blew,
Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs; And so the quarrel grew!
And so there was war in the basket, Ah, pity 'tis, 'tis true!
But he that was frozen and starved at last A strength from his weakness drew,
And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs, And killed and ate them, too!