Yes the teacher’s ill,
No work, no teachers means no rules.
Code Red, Code Red teacher spotted,
Coming down the corridor heading towards us,
Battle stations.
Anthony get the planes ready,
Joe paper balls,
Spike water balloons,
Bruno pencils,
Henry ehh what ever you do best.
Target approaching door handle,
Stand by….
Open fire on 3,
3…2…1…
Fire!
Planes flew into the teachers eyes,
Paper balls whacked off his head,
Water balloons soaked the teacher from head down,
Pencils jabbed him everywhere.
Oh no,
You alright sir,
You look a bit wet,
We thought you were ill…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey bro, ya goat to respect ya teachar a little bit more. don't cha waste ya bloday team, fookin around naggin ya teachar.