teacher teacher
Teacher Teacher, I declare,
I can see your underwear.
A memorable opening couplet to a piece of junior school playground poetry. There was undoubtedly more to this rhyme, but I can't recall it. Anyone who can supply the missing lines will have my eternal gratitude, as its keeping me awake at nights thinking about it.
I can see your underwear.
A memorable opening couplet to a piece of junior school playground poetry. There was undoubtedly more to this rhyme, but I can't recall it. Anyone who can supply the missing lines will have my eternal gratitude, as its keeping me awake at nights thinking about it.
written by Ma*t Fas*am, approved by Log
We break up we break down,
We dont care if the school burns down,
No more English, No more French,
No more sitting on the old school bench.
Teacher, Techer, I declare,
I can see your underwear,
Is it black or is it white,
Or is it made of dynamite?
I think thats it, possibly in that order.
We dont care if the school burns down,
No more English, No more French,
No more sitting on the old school bench.
Teacher, Techer, I declare,
I can see your underwear,
Is it black or is it white,
Or is it made of dynamite?
I think thats it, possibly in that order.
written by Ti* Br*wning, approved by Log