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He's younger than the others. Looks about my brother's age.
He speaks like people speak, not like he's reading from a page.
Well I shouldn’t’ve been playin’ really Only there to watch me brotherMy friend fancies his friend, y’know.Anyway they was a man short.
Tell me, Mama,Where does the sun come fromin the morning?
Where does it go towhen it reaches the edge of the field?
In the line you hear a chatter.Up and down a clatter, clatter.Noisy schoolgirls scream and shout,pushing in and pushing out.
When Raymond Gough joined our classHe was almost a year behind.'Sanatorium', said Mrs McBride'So I want you all to be kind.'
I’ve got the Teach-them-in-the-morning-Playground-duty-Teach-them-in-the-afternoon blues.My head’s like a drum;My feet, cold and sore.I’m feeling so glum;
We finished with a song on the football pitchSinging all along on the football pitch Had a little sing with a sing-song-singHad a little fling with a ding-dong-ding
The thing about daydreaming
in your class
is you forget
what was happening
just before ninety thousand fans
started CHEERING you
The playground is built on top of a graveyard.
Press your ear to the tarmac and you'll hear the undead
scratching on their coffin lids.
Today I’m not going to school,I can’t face my lessons today,problem is my Mum’s no fool,she’s gonna make me go any way.