You think 
You got it
Teacher man
With your pay cheque
In the holidays 
And the wine 
Running 
Through your veins
With mr government
On your back
Measuring your 
Achievement
Your success
Your sense of attainment
Those little boxes
You build 
Out of people
You build them
Better
You make them 
Brighter
Whilst society 
Claws at your eyes
No longer 
Hides their whispers 
Of disgust 
And hatred
Man
You run a poor 
Baby-sitting service
Stay open longer 
Don't forget 
Their breakfast
You think we have time
To feed
And nurture them
Shit
We're busy working 
You bring them up
We only spit them out
Then it's down to you
Little teacher man
When it all goes wrong
Where's your discipline 
Now
And by the way
That's no way
To talk to my child
Don't mind their swear words
What do you expect 
There grammar ain't write cos
You don't teach em so good
Yeh
Teacher man
You got it easy
What on earth
Have you got 
To complain about
With your six-week
Holidays
And all the love 
In the world
For the children
Of others 
Who only ever 
Want 
To 
Learn