(No more pencils, no more books,
No more teachers' dirty
looks.
Dropouts! dropouts! Yeah team!)
On, dropouts, down the field,
Ain't we the national shame.
Cheer for
our fun-loving breed,
Who can't hardly read,
Or write our name.
March,
dropouts, backward march.
Ain't we a tragedy.
Leave us unite, and fight,
fight, fight
For good old stupidity.
Duh!
Duh!
Drop, dropouts, out of school,
Proud of the will to fail.
You won't
find us in the school halls.
Look in the pool halls, or in jail.
Long may
our colors wave,
Sons of the black and blue.
Light-hearted chaps
Who
steal hubcaps,
We've got nothing else to do.
Ignoramus there you are,
Sitting in your hopped-up car,
And your brains
ain't up to par,
And your ears stick out too far.
Go, dropouts, go and buy,
One comic book or two.
You need some rest and
enjoyment,
Your unemployment check is due.
Soon, dropouts, very
soon,
You'll wear a different hat.
Soon you will be in the Army.
Just
try dropping out of that!
Return to "My Son, The Box" -- The Allan Sherman CD Box Set
Return to CampGranada.com -- The Official Allan Sherman Website