M’Dad always flipped wi’ a farthin’ –
An old un, ‘e told us. ‘E knew,
‘Cos it ‘ad old Britannia on one side
And at t’botttom the year twenty-two.
Ah’ll toss yer, ‘e’d say, on a Sat’day
If we ‘ad to decide what to do.
Can I ‘ave first dibs at the scratchin’s?
Y’can wash and dry dishes then too!
No, Dad, let’s toss for it, shall we?
It’s first dibs, no pans, if I win!.
So up goes the farthin’ as usual.
Heads? No. I can see from Dad’s grin.
Best o’ three then, m’Dad always answered.
Then ‘Five!’ Even ‘Seven!’ one night.
Go on, lad, ‘e always conceded;
You won fair and square, ain’t that right?
Boadicea's Chariot 
Nice one , poet laureate.
Bet one time it was best of seventy-seven.
(Saying 77 in an Ayrshire accent is a belter, by the way.)
Thanks, JW! These days it’s a Westminster thing. If at first you don’t succeed, vote vote vote again.
The playground plot thickens. The Unions are now telling Labour not to push for a second referendum. Why? It’s not fair!!
And the Brussels Bullies gang are practising their chant: Hahahahahahaha! You lose, you lose! We win, win!
Playground rules again! Our favourite bullyboy Phil is still flexing his nonogenarian muscles to show who really wears the trousers; and the Corbyn Gang want to pit their conkers against the brighter kids with a best-of-however-many game of plebiscites.