In the school of the orangutan
The desks are made of mud
The teachers throw the spitballs
They hit you with a thud.
In the school of the orangutan
You work like a computer
A little lady guards your room
Armed with a pea shooter.
In the school of the orangutan
The headmistress wears a jock
You sit upon a battery
Wrong answers get a shock.
In the school of the orangutan
They tie your feet with chain
They nail your hands to wooden books
And microwave your brain.
In the school of the orangutan
The only food is meat
On clipboards they write what you eat
And how much you excrete.
In the school of the orangutan
Each day new kids arrive
The buses go home empty
No one gets out alive.
from Babcock
© Copyright 1996 by Joe Cottonwood