Billy Wilums, tried to be good, Did the things he knew he should. Kept his head down, walked the line, Just wanted the sun to shine. He had his football, worn and loved, A piece of heaven from above. Recess came, the usual sound, Trouble waiting on the ground. 'Cause when they started in to tease, A rage he fought hard to appease He'd try to hold it deep inside, But anger had nowhere left to hide. "Give me back my football!" he'd roar, A sound they hadn't heard before. They came around, a sneering few, Said mean words, like bullies do. He felt the heat rise in his face, Longed to run from that place. A little girl with gentle eyes, Said, "Billy, please, don't mind their lies." She reached a hand out, soft and low, Tried to stop the anger's flow. 'Cause when they started in to tease, A rage he fought hard to appease He'd try to hold it deep inside, But anger had nowhere left to hide. "Give me back my football!" he'd roar, A sound they hadn't heard before. But the taunts kept coming, sharp and mean, The worst he'd ever heard or seen. Something snapped inside his head, All the frustrated words unsaid. He didn't mean to, not that way, But he pushed the bullies, come what may. They stumbled back, surprised and sore, While Billy's heart felt something more. 'Cause when they started in to tease, A rage he fought hard to appease He'd try to hold it deep inside, But anger had nowhere left to hide. "Give me back my football!" he'd roar, A sound they hadn't heard before. The little girl looked sad and worried now, She longed to help but knew not how. Billy stood there, out of breath, His stolen football, a look of death. Being good is an order Tall But Billy Wilums he got his Ball
