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PETE PINK PETE
I spied the pink car
Passing by.
It was very, very pink,
covered in silver stars
Pete, the driver
Was a punk
With hair all spiked
And strong.
He raced along
In front of me
And down the road he sped.
Around, around, around he went
People called out, ‘STOP!’
But on he fled
Right into the park.
He churned up the dust
And on he went down the lane
And up and back again,
A menace on the road.
The whistle blew,
Pete didn’t hear
He just charged on and on
Past the station and the shops
everybody shouted.
‘Stop!’
Pete was happy and he was free.
He did not hear the call,
‘Slow down Pete, That is far too fast.
You are coming to a wall!’
On he went in the air
And no care at all.
Dogs going running, barking
Chasing racing.
Farmer Best took out his gun
His sheep were in the way.
His cows turned round
With big eyes staring
Moodily chewing the grass.
On went the mad dasher until
His mad journey was complete.
A sudden stop and off he
Fell right into the muck heap
And here he fell asleep.