Your conviction is quick it can’t be denied.
Your sentence, of course, is strictly applied.
Dragging your feet to the front of the jail,
You think to yourself…never too late to bail.
Say that just the other day your grandmother died;
Say you forgot to come, or simply hide.
Say you have a fever that you got from the flu,
Really pretty much anything will do.
Just get in your car and drive away,
But it’s your parents who force you to stay.

Nodding to your inmates as you march down the hall,
Walking rather quickly trying not to stall.
You have to get to class on time if you don’t want a tardy
Because spending Saturdays in detention really ain’t no party.
For example you can’t use the bathroom while in class,
But maybe if you’re lucky they’ll write you up a pass.
The bathrooms are stingy; they’re dull, and plain.
Janitor you say, there is no such thing.

As slow as you can, you walk to the room,
Patiently strolling preventing your doom.
But on your way back you hear a noise.
A mass has formed, most of which boys.
A fight breaks out, from the crowd, comes a roar.
People hear as he shouts, “shut the front door”.
Fists flying, words soaring, you try and get a view,
But then you realize… it’s nothing new
Within seconds a man has stopped the brawl
To clear the commotion clogging the hall.

This place is crazy, there’s no way to escape.
You’re always on camera, you’re always on tape.
They say to me that it’s for my own good,
Not only that I can go to school, but should.

You see, in a school they say you’re free to do as you please,
But if you want to eat your lunch you gotta pay your fees.
Meals, however, aren’t the highlight of my day;
I’m really not a fan, but I’ll eat it anyway.
Others say your food’s infested, it’s maggot galore,
And that it’s not hard resisting to ask for more.
It seems like this food’s from last Halloween.
Maybe it’s better if I go to Dairy Queen.
What’s that? You say it’s too crowded? Oh well.
I mean you could always go to Taco Hell!

And when you look back on how the day has been so long
You can’t help but feel that there is something about this place that is wrong.

With the day at its end, you’re marched to your cell.
You quietly sit, and wait for the bell.
You hate it here, you’re just glad you’re a alive,
But this is your life, in cell 245.