“Hey Pete, why do we eve write songs like this man? People ain’t gonna change.”n“I don’t know Bill, you know, uh, there might be somebody out there, you never can tell.”nnTo the graduating class of two thousand whatever,nCongratulations past due, you deserve better,nLooking dapper in a cap and a gown,nYou got fam snappin flicks, clappin loud in the back of the crowd.nNow the band playin Martin Circumstance got you amped feelin like a champ,nClass is out of session at last.nYou’ve been patiently waiting,n12 years in the making,nAnybody who has doubted you is sadly mistaken,nWith the paper with your name in old English for the taking,nSo moms can bring it home and frame it and display it,nWith the grade point average hanging over head,nBrother sister please don’t believe the bullshit they said.nFuck the pledge of allegiance and arrogant teachersnBut peace to the people who don’t ever preach in the front of a classroomnAll day long, planting seeds of revolution,nWe dedicate this song.nnIt goes one for the student who refuses to submitnAnd two for the teachers who are underpaid as shitnIt’s the next generation of miseducated youthnWho demonstrate the truth and manage to make it throughnIt goes three for the strikes giving young bloods lifenAnd four for the years you spent stifled insidenIt’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proof.nnNow to the knuckleheads clowin in the back of the classnTo the teacher’s pet monkey in the front kissin assnBut most of all everyone else who sat between emnAnd questioned all the falsehoods the teachers believe in.nUp in hallways herded and locker territorialiasm up in assembliesnNobody would listen, instead, rocked the mixed tapenAnd walkman to street with the headphones threaded from the pocket through the sleeve.nYou received education through the music you heard,nCafeteria tables enabled beats to occur,nWhere students separated in cliquesnThe State of the Nation manifested up in high school politics.nHistory repeated, you repeat it to regurgitate.nSlave ownin, dead white men,nFolks you know they made curriculums to make obedient drones.nBring your paper but please your lyrics at home.nnIt goes one for the student who refuses to submitnAnd two for the teachers who are underpaid as shitnIt’s the next generation of miseducated youthnWho demonstrate the truth and manage to make it throughnIt goes three for the strikes giving young bloods lifenAnd four for the years you spent stifled insidenIt’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proof.nnHey yo we made it,n45 caliber proof,nAnd the teachers don’t believe that you can handle the truthnBut the truth is these suits can’t stand it when youthnBegin to question the conditions and backwards traditionsnAs you recognize the threshold of negative stressnThe crossroad between complete failure and success,nIt’s so necessary you pay attention in classnNever tell you the conditions in which to apply to mathnOnly 65% of your peers freshman year are still herenAnd half that total will move onnBut three out of four will drop out in two yearsnAdd it up and it equals some shit has gone wrongnNow the snakes gave the education budget roll backnNo child left behind is just a backboard draftnAs you stand at the summit future facin the windnNow it’s time to let your true education to beginnnIt goes one for the student who refuses to submitnAnd two for the teachers who are underpaid as shitnIt’s the next generation of miseducated youthnWho demonstrate the truth and manage to make it throughnIt goes three for the strikes giving young bloods lifenAnd four for the years you spent stifled insidenIt’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proofnn