Not So Class-y

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Here I am, sitting in a chair, 

Running a pencil through my hair,

These words you say, I do not care, 

Sitting in a daze, all I can do is stare.

You give us a lesson upon which you teach, 

We do not want to hear you preach.

A few minutes pass, my eyes start to rest,

"Hey now class, time for a pop test!"

Nobody understands your crude ways,

We all sit here and count the remaining days.

Your voice is so loud and has a shrill,

The chalk on your board makes me chill.

The shoes you wear make a click on the floor, 

Your stupid lessons continue to bore.

The teacher wears makeup like a cake,

She never brings in these treats to bake.

After time passes, my stomach begins to growl,

The students start talking, it becomes a howl.

You yell at us like we are five, 

Your hair looks like a beehive.

At the end of the day you give us work to take home,

We walk through the hallways at a steady rome. 

 

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