When I was a kid you had not much choice,
You were told what to wear, 'coz you had no voice.
Those bloody short pants and the stockings to match,
White shirt, and blue jumper, that came in a batch.
But worst of all were those Y fronts from hell,
No matter the colour, they never wore well.
Without being too crude things always popped out,
Embarrassing to wear when out and about.
My mother said to change every day,
She never did specify in what way.
I changed with my brother, oh what a pain,
I always ended up with the one's with the stain.