Father:

Back in the day,

When I used to play

With all my toys

With the other boys

I'd go to scouts every day

In the middle of the field

We would lay

Then I met your mother Faye

Son:

Excuse me father

If I may

Could we save this for another day?

I'd rather talk about footie and stuff

So please father that's enough

Father:

I'm old

And you hate me

Why is that so?

You hating me is such bad timing

Son:

That's because you're always rhyming

Father:

Oh, I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!

Son:

Don't say that

It's not cool

Oh gosh dad

You're worse than school

And your poems make me drool

Father:

OK Son

Fair enough

Being modern ain't that tough

Son:

Oh yeah?

Father:

Oh yes!

I mean 'yeah'!

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