There's too many people
|
Planning your downfall
|
When your spirit's on trial
|
These nights can be frightening
|
Sleep transports sadness
|
To some other mid-brain
|
And somebody here
|
Will not be here next year
|
So you stand by the board
|
Full of fear and intention
|
And, if you think that they're listening
|
Well, you've got to be joking
|
Oh, you understand change
|
And you think it's essential
|
But when your profession
|
Is humiliation
|
Say the wrong word to our children...
|
We'll have you, oh yes, we'll have you
|
Lay a hand on our children
|
And it's never too late to have you
|
Mucus on your collar
|
A nail up through the staff chair
|
A blade in your soap
|
And you cry into your pillow
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
Say the wrong word to our children...
|
We'll have you, oh yes, we'll have you
|
Lay a hand on our children
|
And it's never too late to have you
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
To be finished would be a relief
|
I'm very glad this thing has come
|
Sometimes I'm so glad
|
Never bother to play the tunes
|
I've seen it coming for dear life
|
|
-----------------
|
The Teachers Are Afraid Of The Pupils
|
| Morrissey |
