Mischief

We all did it one time or another,

but we never told our mother.

We never even bother,

to tell our father.

For the most part we were good,

but sometimes we were up to no good.

Maybe we tried a cigarette puff,

or we tried chewing snuff.

It was just too risky,

so we never bother whisky.

When we came home late,

we kind of knew our fate.

We soon got the willow,

before we hit the pillow.

They know when we lie,

so we pretend to cry.

When we were bad,

we couldn’t fool Mom or Dad.

We used to tease girls,

an’ try to spoil their curls.

We steal their handkerchief,

an’ that’s how we got into mischief.

We always played tricks,

like stealing old ladies’ sticks.

Sometimes we kind of got mean,

but that’s part of being a teen.

They kept us on the right track,

and we never talked back.

Lucky our parents made rules,

’cause sometimes we were fools.

I hope my Mom doesn’t read my poem,

’cause she can still send me home.