Around 1952 as a small boy in Gosport, Hampshire, South of England, we all played in the street with all the other baby boomers. This was a skipping game to us and two kids would turn the rope while everyone else queued up and,one at a time, jumped in and skipped while everyone else sang the verse. At the end of the verse another skipper came in and the song might be changed but just as often, might not. Our words were another variation again which made little sense then or since.

One, two, three a-lairy
My ball's gone in the dairy
Serves you right for playing a-lairy
On a Sunday morning