The wicked road troll ruins our roads
With his pick, shovel and axe.
Ah yes, he knows the holes he makes
They’ll mend with people’s tax.
He does his deeds quite late at night,
When you and I sleep tight
And when he thinks of what’s to come,
He laughs at all his spite.
The morning’s traffic starts to flow -
(Oh think of those poor souls) -
Down their wheels go bump bump bump
In lots and lots of holes.
One driver’s hands wave in despair.
He reaches for the phone
And asks someone to come and help
And gives a fearsome groan.
There’s someone else, sat at the back,
Who seems to be quite cool
For that someone, with joy in heart,
Will miss a day at school!
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