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When I was young and they packed me off to schoolAnd taught me how not to play the game,I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,Or if they said that I was a fool.So I left there in the morningWith their God tucked underneath my arm --Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.So I asked this God a questionAnd by way of firm reply,He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --I don't believe you:You had the whole damn thing all wrong --He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday schoolAnd have all the bishops harmonize these lines --How do you dare tell me that I'm my father's sonWhen that was just an accident of birth.I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.I don't believe you:You had the whole damn thing all wrong --He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
When I was young and they packed me off to schoolAnd taught me how not to play the game,I didn't mind if they groomed me for success,Or if they said that I was a fool.So I left there in the morningWith their God tucked underneath my arm --Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.So I asked this God a questionAnd by way of firm reply,He said -- I'm not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers --I don't believe you:You had the whole damn thing all wrong --He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday schoolAnd have all the bishops harmonize these lines --How do you dare tell me that I'm my father's sonWhen that was just an accident of birth.I'd rather look around me -- compose a better song`cos that's the honest measure of my worth.In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me,As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.I don't believe you:You had the whole damn thing all wrong --He's not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
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