Schooldays

Don’t you always hear them say
Ah schooldays were the best days.
Those memories just cant be true
As everyday was my Waterloo.

Blazers and grey shorts
A uniformed work force.
Working class fifties school
Overcrowded and so cruel.

Lads always fighting
Teachers dominating.
Leather straps, bamboo cane
Pain being the daily refrain.

Behind the Bikeshed quick time
Smoke a fine woodbine.
Three whacks on the hand each
It sure made you silently screech.
Skipping class to watch the girls play
Volleyball in the yard made it a fine day.

School dinners looking like organic alkali
So off to the shop for a tasty Beano pie.
Cross country runs in a hailstorm
Make a man of you boy, so conform.

Lessons nothing more than periods of drudgery
Heads shrouded in melancholy.
Three paper rounds a day
Gutting chickens on Saturday
Money money all spent on Sunday play
Schooldays were sure a hell day.
Our saviour was the last days bell.