Mr.McMorris taught us sports and games;
He liked to shout and call us nasty names.
He’d roar ‘You’re useless!’ with his face all red;
He’s really much nicer now that he’s dead.
On the rugby field in the pissing rain,
He laughed as we shivered with cold and pain,
So on that filthy, sodden, boggy pitch
We began to feel a murderous itch.
We knocked him down with a jubilant charge
And trampled him till he wasn’t so large.
‘Mercy!’ he screamed, but we were hard-hearted,
Determined to finish what we’d started.
He mentioned his daughters; we didn’t care.
His dying words were ‘I’ve always been fair!’
After he’d snuffed it, not one of us fled;
We resumed the game with his severed head.