School; a sickly, twisted time
I never want to learn or try
My friends are in the class above
Doing things that I would love

Rules; They never seem to cease
Set to give the teacher peace
Pieces of them suit me fine
Others I just can't abide

Teachers;Seem to have a smell
That I associate with hell
Instead of being sweet and fresh
It's cigarettes and coffee breath

Preachers; like old Father Best
We listen hard, as he's our guest
And from the church he strolls each week
To talk of god and all things bleak

Detention; what's the point in that?
I miss my lunch and daily chat
With Auntie Pam and best mate Joe
I'm at the wall, stuck on skid row

Attention; the headmaster hollers
"Come with me!" I know what follows
A telling off, and letter home
His mouth, it gently starts to foam

Prison cell; headmasters office
"I didn't do it, sir I promise."
But adults seem to have a way
Of pulling out the truth each day

Final bell; can't come too soon
Now I'll break the sad, sad news
That's bound to make my parents sigh
"You stupid boy! Oh why? Oh why?"