Roses and Doc Martens

Red Roses on the High Mountain of High School Love


Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
My roses are dead,
I hate remembering you...
I had done up my tresses
In an elaborate up-do!
Hairsprayed to invite caresses,
But all to impress you.
I showered and primped,
That night of the dance.
YOUR hair was unkempt,
Pimples left to chance.
You picked me up late,
There were roses in hand.
I took the bait,
I just couldn't stand
To assert my pride,
Even though you were 'cool'.
Stacey told me you lied,
Used her like a tool.
So we got in your Ford,
Mirrors duct-taped on,
A band played I adored-
Ah, sweet radio song!
I thought we looked sweet,
Our Doc Martens together,
Yours were scuffed - mine were neat,
And your laces were severed.
We got to the gym,
I tried to touch your clothes,
You almost ripped off my neck-
You parked my head under your nose,
My forehead you pecked.
We danced a short while,
Then you had to take a leak.
No trust, so I followed.
Your credibility reaked.
Big shocker, I found you,
Joint half down your throat.
And that's when I knew
The whole night was a joke.
Those roses were red
Cause you were after a rush.
And you liked to sniff my head
Fumes of hairspray stuff!
That's right, I know it,
You got high off my hair,
And you and your roses can stuff it
in your smelly old boots - I don't even care!