Little futures, outside the shop,
recite rude words, whilst nicking pop,
such is the reign, no calm, no truth,
bringing down, a schooled roof,
there’s no history class, to look back,
dispense hypocrisy, what is RAAC?
It’s something cheap, it has to go,
can’t under-pin, this light ratio,
when it comes to pride, it has to last,
there are many things, to be recast,
so, please Maclean, make it right,
Great Britian now, is not so tight,
for some kids, only know the false,
the illusions served, by House assaults,
where minds cry out, for some space,
those buildings, with no pencil case,
though bricks and mortar, is half the fix,
Keegan should have her Weetabix,
to ensure the courses, aren’t so dense,
an overworked kid, makes no sense,
for structures both, concrete and child,
need not be made, pointlessly mild,
for relentless regrouts, and regrets,
prolongs the poison, of neglect.