A dozen girls had one young buck
Some of them had to wait.
One more girl into his life snuck
He begged her for a date.
Friday (his name), such a schmuck,
She said her name was Kate.
She asked the question ‘fuzzy duck?’
And then was his soul mate;
The two of them, they ran amok
Seeking to procreate:
All taboos they did freely buck
Their passion to abate.
But now it was they came unstuck:
Twelve lasses, flaring glares of hate
And each armed with a hockey puck
Chased all through the estate.
The two fled in a knackered truck
They found outside a gate,
But it slid in some cowshit muck
Into a pile of slate;
And this is how they became stuck
and caught by four, then eight;
And then there was a frightful ruck
That went on until late.
So you can see, it is the suck
And when they come and from it pluck
You with their moods irate,
It can’t be blamed on plain bad luck,
Nor destiny, nor fate:
It’s just ever so very untidy,
When the 13th falls for a Friday.