The Whose-its and Whats-its both lived in a valley.
The chief of the Whose-its name was O’Malley,
The Whose-its had fun and played all day through
From the first light of dawn. Their worries were few.
The Whose-its wore bright stripes and polka-dot togs
And shirts with fat buttons, and zippers, and frogs,
They mismatched their layers because that was fun
If one shirt was plenty, then don’t wear just one.
If the sock on the left foot was cheery bright red,
The other was orange like the hat on the head,
The shirt might be blue, the pants green and yellow
The costume the same for a gal or a fellow.
If you can’t grow it to eat it, don’t grow it at all,
And heavens, no pictures belong on your wall,
No buttons on shirts, they just wore gray smocks
And very long, wrinkled, all same size socks.
“Quiet!” shouted wise, old man MacSneed
“A Whats-it doesn’t make noise when there is no need.”
But they didn’t shut up as young Corlin whined
Each holding the person ahead and behind.
“Pull!” yelled MacSneed, and they grunted with pain
And yanked on poor Corlin in a long Whats-it chain
That wound through the town and up through the hills
Past stacks of gray houses and gummy paste stills.