| You curl your toes in fun
|
| As you smile at everyone
|
| You meet the stares, you’re unaware
|
| That your doings aren’t done
|
| And you laugh most ruthlessly
|
| As you tell us what not to be
|
| But how are we supposed to see
|
| Where we should run?
|
| I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
|
| Your rings upon your fingers
|
| And your downy little sidies
|
| And your silver-buckle shoes
|
| Playing at the hard case
|
| You follow the example
|
| Of the comic-paper idol
|
| Who lets you bend the rules
|
| So, come on ye childhood heroes!
|
| Won’t you rise up from the pages
|
| Of your comic-books, your super crooks
|
| And show us all the way
|
| Well! |
| Make your will and testament
|
| Won’t you join your local government?
|
| We’ll have Superman for president
|
| Let Robin save the day
|
| You put your bet on number one
|
| And it comes up every time
|
| The other kids have all backed down
|
| And they put you first in line
|
| And so you finally ask yourself
|
| Just how big you are
|
| And you take your place in a wiser world
|
| Of bigger motor cars
|
| And you wonder who to call on
|
| So! |
| Where the hell was Biggles
|
| When you needed him last Saturday?
|
| And where were all the sportsmen
|
| Who always pulled you though?
|
| They’re all resting down in Cornwall
|
| Writing up their memoirs
|
| For a paper-back edition
|
| Of the Boy Scout Manual |