15-12-2010 at 07:28:59 PM

At school today, they made me write, a silly essay,
I said to the teacher, just where should I start, she looked at me winded, then just let off with a fart,
The smell it was clear, as it left her front rear, of a two stroke dialema that I once held quite dear,
Daydreaming of a dinga, a mate I knew once well, a clear cut story that made her fart ring a bell,

There once was a young bloke, called dinga, everytime he crashed, he'd all'ways put one inner,
So muffled it got, on the start straight it did lock, now remembers, why he isn't a winner,
The cone it was crushed, as he sat there and blushed,
But he wasn't a fool, for playing with the wrong tool, to change his blocked pipe at just about midnight,
He had figured it all out, as he twirled spanners with his mate stought,
At low noon he was gunna rip, and bring it home,The Big 'Ship,'
As the new day it dawned, he never slept he just yawned,
He lined up the next day, even without hitting the hay,
A true privateer without a sleep it was clear,
He was knackered from the start, still at least he fixed the pipe part,
Top two at the first corner, as he lined up number one, passed him so quick whil'st still chewing gum,
To the post he had made it, he wasn't to be denied, but when he awoke on the shed floor,
His dream it had lied.