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!