the teachers flood the room
The place that Betsy nicknamed
It's not that I hate kids,
I just need to let it out
Get the worries off my chest,
express my anger and my doubts
So I open up the fridge, grab my food,
scarf some chips, go up a soda,
and start a brand new rumor.
And when I finish with my story,
someone else starts going off
about the kids who are too hardened
and the kids who are too soft.
looking through that darkened glass
till that's all that I can see
when I look out at my class.
I forget there's more to kids
than what we toss around, around.
Each day I listen to the lore
How one teacher had a hummer,
that's a kid who won't stop humming
About the boy who rubbed two pencils
till he made some pa per burn
How it's folk to show up tardy
and the kids talk out of turn
and counselors visited the home
Farm was waiting at the door,
fully nude, clearly stoned
someone else starts going off
and a master key that's lost
looking through that darkened glass
Till that's all that I can see
When I look out at my class
and then I realize it's time to quit
Hey, with all the courage I
I asked the crew to stop complaining
An d to my surprise they were
of the whining, griping, blaming
So we all made a new pact
to make an attitude correction
Tell successors every day
how kids learn from our direction
And we've noticed our new passion
is contagiously infective
and a lot more interesting.
Hey, hey, and when I finish
someone else will carry on
about the kids who keep on trying,
even when they get it wrong.
We notice kids who bring a pencil,
ask good questions, use a pass.
Even kids who give us hope
when we look at our class.
There's so much more to kids
than what we used to toss around,
Now we celebrate right here
Right here, that's the place
