When I Was Young And They Packed Me Off To School

And They 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 Just A Fool.

So I Left There In The Morning With Their God Tucked Underneath My Arm -

Their Half - Assed Smiles And The Book Of Rules.

And I Asked This God A Question And 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 Excommunicate Me On My Way To Sunday School

And Have All The Bishops Harmonise These Lines -

How Do You Dare To Tell Me That I'm My Father's Son

When 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.