Down Memory Lane - by the Monday Group

When I was but a lad,
I grew up to look like me dad,
poor soul he's dead and gone,
but memories of him linger on.

These memories I love to recall,
by writing the words upon a wall.
These words have been washed away,
'cause it rained the other day.

Days I recall so well, with fishing rod, bat and ball,
every day we had a ball.
God bless em all, the big, the short and the tall.

From my youth I recall,
some of the writing on the wall.
The policeman's hand often felt,
with a clip on the ear or dad's old belt.

Three in a bath was such a treat,
to wash your feet from the dirty street,
and spend any change on a sweet.

Many happy hours we spent,
scrumpying fruit and nuts to our hearts content,
happy days with two girls on my arm,
kissing and cuddling behind the barn.

Suddenly her father I saw on the green,
fast he came up on the scene.
"Get home quickly", shouts he,
"or you'll all be in trouble with ME! Just wait n'see".

I happily recall my first half pint at the village hall,
with the vicar looking on in awe,
dumbfounded to the very core.
"Now what's this" he said, "what's the score?"
Expelled from school, church n'all.

This is the end of memory Lane,
These days will never come again.