The big lad in our street

Sat at the back at school;

We used to pull his leg

And took him for a fool.

 

He seemed a little dim;

His mum and dad were poor.

The paint was peeling off

Their ramshackle front door.

 

He was the worst in maths,

At bottom place in French

And would cut his finger

While at the woodwork bench.

 

We all had a good laugh

When he failed every test,

And tittered in the gym

At huge holes in his vest.

 

He left school at sixteen,

Looked destined to sweep roads,

But many years have passed

And now he is worth loads!

 

He set up his own firm,

This large, slow-witted boy,

And we who taunted him

Are now in his employ!