A poem about guns

There was a school pupil who shot with a gun

I don’t know why he shot with a gun.

Perhaps we’ll die.

There was a school teacher who shot with a rifle.

It shivered and jittered and recoiled inside her.

She shot with the rifle to stop the gun.

I don’t know why he shot with the gun.

Perhaps we’ll die.

There was a policeman who shot with a pistol

And tasered the teacher to stifle the rifle

He shot with the taser to stop the rifle

It shivered and jittered and recoiled inside her

She shot with the rifle to stop the gun

I don’t know why he shot with the gun

Perhaps we’ll die

There was a rich club campaigning for firearms

It’s fair, they say, to allow gun play

They wanted all citizens to have the right

But we tasered the teacher to stifle the rifle

He shot with the taser to stop the rifle

It shivered and jittered and recoiled inside her

She shot with the rifle to stop the gun

I don’t know why he shot with the gun

Perhaps we’ll die

There was a rich man who was leading the country

He liked playing golf with the rich club campaigners

He granted the club their playful rights

And armed the whole country with guns so they might

Make riches from firearms and have lots of fun

Displaying their wealth in their homes stacked with guns

One day a young man opens up dad’s cabinet

And heads into school with a gun for a bet…

There was a school pupil who shot with a gun

Don’t you know why he shot with a gun?

He shot with the gun because it was there.

No not because there’s stuff wrong with his head.

And now we’re dead.