"Hey Pete, why do we even write songs like this man? People ain't gonna change."
"I don't know Bill, you know, uh, there might be somebody out there listening, you never can tell, you know?"
To the graduating class of 2000-whatever,
Congratulations past due, you deserve better,
Looking dapper in that cap and that gown,
You got fam snappin' flicks, clappin' loud in the back of the crowd.
Now the band playin' Pomp & Circumstance got you amped feelin' like a champ,
Class is out of session at last.
You've been patiently waiting,
12 years in the making,
Anybody who has doubted you is sadly mistaken,
With the paper with your name in Olde English for the taking,
So moms can bring it home to frame it and display it,
With the grade point average hanging over your head,
Brother sister please don't believe the bullshit they said.
Fuck the pledge of allegiance and arrogant teachers
But peace to the people who don't ever preach up in the front of a classroom
All day long, plantin' seeds of revolution,
We dedicate this song.
It goes one for the student who refuses to submit
And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit
It's the next generation of miseducated youth
Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through
It goes three for the strikes givin' young bloods life
And four for the years you spent stifled inside
It's the next generation of miseducated youth- next time ask 'em for proof.
Now to the knuckleheads clowin' in the back of the class
To the teacher's pet monkey in the front kissin' ass
But most of all everyone else who sat between 'em
And questioned all the falsehoods your teachers believe in.
Up in hallways herded and locker territorialiasm up in assemblies
Nobody would listen, instead, rocked the mixed tape
And walkman to street with the headphones threaded from the pocket through the sleeve.
You received education through the music you heard,
Cafeteria tables enabled beats to occur,
Where students separated in cliques
The State of the Nation manifested up in high school politics.
History repeated, you read it to regurgitate.
Slave ownin', dead white men,
Folks you know they made curriculums designed to make obedient drones.
Bring your paper, but please leave your lyrics at home.
It goes one for the student who refuses to submit
And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit
It's the next generation of miseducated youth
Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through
It goes three for the strikes givin' young bloods life
And four for the years you spent stifled inside
It's the next generation of miseducated youth- next time ask 'em for proof.
Hey yo we made it,
45 caliber proof,
And your teachers don't believe that you can handle the truth
But the truth is these suits can't stand it when youth
Begin to question the conditions and backwards traditions
As you recognize the threshold of negative stress
The crossroad between complete failure and success,
It's so necessary you pay attention in class
Never tell you the conditions in which to apply the math
Only 65% of your peers freshman year are still here
And half that total will move on
But three out of four will drop out in two years
Add it up and it equals some shit has gone wrong
Now the snakes gave the education budget roll back
"No child left behind" is just a backdoor draft
As you stand at the summit future facin' the wind
Now it's time to let your true education begin
It goes one for the student who refuses to submit
And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit
It's the next generation of miseducated youth
Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through
It goes three for the strikes givin' young bloods life
And four for the years you spent stifled inside
It's the next generation of miseducated youth- next time ask 'em for proof