gonna wipe this crowbar clean
|
and pry off my face
|
I'll roll up my sleeves and dig around
|
until i find the stains
|
and shampoo my soiled brains
|
|
Old yellow gauze, a rusty scalpel
|
and some cheap whiskey
|
The tools for this home remedy
|
|
Students stuffed in classroom pockets
|
But something's out of place
|
Words are leaking out his sockets
|
Words he was supposed to memorize
|
|
Better get the compass, this one needs redirection
|
|
Soon they plugged me with ambition
|
Pulp from textbooks soaked in fiction
|
I feasted on competition
|
|
Congratulations, you're this years champion
|
Cue the announcer, please tell him what he's won
|
|
Letters validate the tests
|
Numbers to see who's the best
|
Now I understand that life's just a contest
|
|
Black mortarboard, a wooden ruler
|
And papers marked with A's
|
The tools that taught me to think straight
|
|
Now I don't call out the answers
|
I'm the host, I ask the questions
|
Raise your hand, who knows the answer?
|
Be the first to press your buzzer
|
Watch my eyes as you call out the answer
|
See them twinkle as i smile
|
Watch the scoreboard when you get the answer
|
Lights will flash and cymbals will crash
|
Confetti rains down from the sky
|
|
So tell him what he's won
|
A lifetime on the run
|
Pursuing number one
|
|
Red grading pens
|
Gray chain-link fence
|
Mental detentions
|
The tools that left these stains
|
|
-----------------
|
Some Lovely Parting Gifts
|
Marathon |