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