The Poerty Bus - A Calculated Revenge

I wasn't going to ride the bus this week (and after you've heard what I've posted, you may well wish I hadn't!)

Anyway, Lydia of Emerging Writer fame, offered such a delicious prompt that I just could not resist.  I chose the option of writing a Tim Minchin-style revenge song.  Actually, I don't know what the other prompts are because she had me at revenge, if I'm honest.  To see the prompt and watch a video of how these things really should be done, go here.

You can listen to my song by scrolling down to the last track in my ReverbNation doo-hickey over there on the right sidebar.

Or, if you value your lug-holes, you can just read it....

O Miss Chapman

When I was just a spotty kid
New in my second year
There was a certain teacher there
Who filled my heart with fear.
Miss Chapman was this witch’s name,
Maths teacher, heartless cow!
Though thirty years have come and gone
I’d love to meet you now.
Oh, Miss Chapman
How did it come to be
That you should take such grim delight,
Making life so hard for me?

From minute one, it all went wrong
To this day I see you frown.
And all because I wrote my name
On your desk plan upside down.
My eyesight wasn’t good enough
The blackboard for to see.
Would it have really killed you
To write it out for me?
O Miss Chapman
I was really keen to learn.
But you always thought the worst of me,
Marked me down at every turn.

Now I know I should forgive you
Forgiveness is divine.
But I am just a sinful soul
Wishing vengeance would be mine!

All these years I’ve nursed a grudge
It’s not healthy, this I know.
But I think I finally see a way
That will help me let it go.
‘Cos I learned some maths In spite of you
Oh how useful it will be!
When it comes to calculating
A bullet’s trajectory.
O Miss Chapman
Who knew maths could be such fun!
And had such a useful bearing
On the aiming of a gun.

Other useful formulae
That once to us you showed,
Let me calculate the Semtex needed
To make your car explode.
And trig, it has its uses
Though you made it seem so dull.
I worked out the perfect angle
For my axe to split your skull.
O Miss Chapman
I solved it, dare I boast?
The quantity of petrol
That will turn you into toast.

Now I know that on that Judgement Day
My soul it will be weighed
And I’ll be held accountable
For all these threats I’ve made
But in my own defence I’d plead,
I’d try to make them see
I wouldn’t have these murd’rous thoughts
Had you ONCE been kind to me.

O Miss Chapman
You really were a pill!
You still evoke the urge in me
To hurt, to main, to kill.
O Miss Chapman
I know I’ll burn in Hell
But I don’t give a flying fig
‘Cos you’ll be there as well!
‘Cos you’ll be there as well!
‘Cos you’ll be there as well!

I have yet another sneaking suspicion I've nicked that last stanza off somebody.  Apologies to whoever it might be.