Red and I had bunked off school.
History was so uncool.
Mr. Robbin's face was red,
droning on 'bout people dead.
Kings and Queens were our red line,
we hit the sweet shop feeling fine.
We'd left red herrings for our mums,
they thought we studied with our chums.
Red forged a teacher's writing shape,
upon a notepad, such red tape!
Inside the shop we purloined sweets,
hands red raw we bagged such treats!
Mr. Redgrave owned the shop,
if he knew we'd face the chop.
Red bumped off a bottle rack,
red wine flowed, alas, alack!
Redgrave roared, "you thieving boys,
caught red-handed, too much noise!
My punishment won't be deferred,
from future raids you'll be deterred."
He made us bend down, called us "mutts"
caned us hard, reddened our butts.
Perhaps, from now, we'll stay in class,
avoid red stripes across our ass!