A Dinky Old Village
T'is good to have knowledge,
Mine is of a dinky old village.
And I know cos I'm privileged,
That many at fifteen ain't underage.
In greed the folks are out,
In need of love and care.
But woe for none knows the tears
They sow are lingered for years.
Yet the masculine behind the scars,
Is striving for nothing less but a star.
Forgetting totally the seed he'd sown.
But awaiting the foetus to be grown.
And when the reaping time is near,
Low and behold they appear.
The thing for such is a burial permit,
They've only got to err and they'll geddit!
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