Skinhead was a punker boy,
Had only eighteen years.
He dressed like a Ramone,
And had studs in his ears.
Saffron was his momma.
She loved the hippie scene.
She grew tomatoes in the spring,
Drank lots of Listerine.
Saffron came home one afternoon,
And saw a frightful sight.
Her son was bloodied and bruised.
He had been in a fight.
His shoes, the bastards took.
His brand new Converse Chucks.
Saffron screamed and flailed her arms,
And Skinhead said, "Oh shucks...".
The next day Saffron awoke,
And had a revelation.
"We'll go a-shopping of Queen Street!
We'll have a celebration!"
Skinhead was confused.
He was watching MTV.
"Oh no," said he to Saffron.
"I can't be seen with thee!"
Saffron was upset, you see.
Her heart, it almost broke.
Skinhead sighed and cussed a bit,
And took a sip of Coke.
He thought about it for a moment,
And reluctantly agreed.
Saffron was ecstatic.
In fact, she almost peed.
"What means of transport shall we take?"
Asked Saffron, all a-buzz with joy.
"Whoa, calm down there mom!"
Said her little blue-haired boy.
"Shall we take the GO train, then?"
To this, Saffron agreed.
They hopped on the train to Union,
And got there at record speed.
Their first stop was on Yonge Street:
The Nutty Chocolatier.
"But momma, let us leave this place!
We won't find Converse here!"
And so they left the candy shop,
And continued on their trek.
When suddenly, from behind
One yelled, "Hands on deck!"
Saffron was afraid,
And Skinhead was, as well.
This creature clad in scarves
Looked like a bat from hell.
They turned around in puzzle-ment,
And came upon a store.
The sign read "Neon on Queen"
Established nineteen-ninety-four.
Skinhead saw his Converse shoes
Standing proudly on display.
His little heart, it skipped a beat
He said, "I'll take them in grey."
Saffron saw a fitted shirt
With rivets on the sleeve.
"Mom, I got my shoes!"
With bag in hand, they did leave.
And so we end our tale,
And what did Skinhead learn?
Not to fight with others, of course,
Or they'll take your shoes, in turn.
