Up the hill and aound the corner,
Seven hours since I saw her,
As 3 o’clock gets nearer and nearer,
I push to the front, behind the teacher,
Not because I’m the teacher’s pet,
My motivation is what comes next.
Is my class the first to leave?
I’ll beat Chantelle, you better believe,
I must be the first to feel the squeeze,
Of the tight loving grip,
Of those blue and yellow sleeves.
She stands alone but she prefers it that way,
To the othe parents she has nothing to say,
She knows the answer to her internal pains,
Is seeing the smiles of Chantelle and James,
Where is she? I rarely wonder,
She’s easy to see, like lightning not thunder,
Does she wear that coat fo us?
To give us both that extra rush?
Of seeing the bright yellow and blue,
As we fight to be first in the queue,
How could I ever forget that smell,
Of cigarette smoke and Coco Chanel,
She may not be your typical mum,
But then again, I’m not your typical son,
One day I know the time will come,
I will look to my child and tears will run,
As I remembe the love you gave to me,
You’re the kind of parent I could only hope to be.
COOL!