War Of The Worlds Poem by Michael Moorcroft

It started in the class room,
A rubber band hit the wrong target,
The chav it hit stood up and began to boom,
At the prep shooter, who began to fret.

A place and time was chosen,
At noon the battle would start,
Behind the place where the chicken was frozen,
The preps soon began to fart.

The chavs brought their knives,
While the preps hired goons,
The fight began, both side fought for their lives,
Whilst the preps stood like spoons.

With the goons now slain,
The chavs turned to the brats,
Who began to run in vain,
They too were slain like rats.

© Michael Moorcroft September 2nd 2009