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by MC Paul Barman

What will we do when we have our own kids?
Give 'em twelve year bids just after the bars come off the cribs?
Work within the system? Make 'em listen
To the darkest lecture in the architecture
Of a prison full of purity-scarred security guards?
It's sure to be hard.
Rush hurriedly to the yard
Back-to-school nights are visitation rights
And boredom is the warden.
They’d be less ignored in private schools
But can you afford them?
And even then they're fair to middling
They fiddled with inmates’ diddles
And now they've got the Ritalin.
A.D.D.: Another Dumb Doctor's complicity.
I'm about to Sub. Stitute teach?
No, T.R.A.C.T.

So when the states fail
And they can't make bail
we'll hold a jail break/fake bake sale.
Slow on the uptake?
Well, below in this cupcake,
There's a file a mile wide
With St. Assisi’s SATs
And a reviled style guide.

Paullelujah! etc.

Current events,
Cause and effect,
Embarassing bombast.
Five paragraphs each start with a topic sentence
Or "hook" for pop ascendance.
So much plop, of course people stop attendance.
This court loves to drop defendants.
Let me leave an illusion dispelled:
98 percent of the graduates matriculate
Because the other ones got expelled
(And then you know where they go).

We could rehabeducate with the art
But we ain't got paint.
You can take you budgetary constraint
And fudge it up your hairy taint.
That means you, Principal Asswipe!
You were worse for class
Than sass or grass in a glass pipe.
This isn't hyperbole
It's reality verbally
And we don't want weekends
We need every day between.
If you might die when you're twenty
Then you're old when you're fifteen.
I know! I'll reopen the Black Mountain School
And bring back to us the abacus as a counting tool.
Y'all know what time it is,
This is my Bauhaus.
We run around when it's nice out
And nobody kowtows.

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