School bell go "Ding! Dong! Ding!"
The children all line up
They do what they are told
Take a little drink from the liar's cup
Mama don't really care
If what they learn is true
Or if it's only lies
Just get them through the factories
Into production
Ah, get them into line
Late in the afternoon
The children all come home
They mind their manners well
Their little lives are all laid out
Mama don't seem to care
If she may break their hearts
She clips their wings off, they never learn to fly
Poor Mama needs a source of pride
A doctor son she'll have
No what the cost to manhood or to soul
Sun shine down, brightly shine
Down on all the land
Shine down on the newborn lambs
A butcher's knife is in his hand
Mama, she keeps them unprepared
To meet the enemy
Common unto all
Teach them that evil dwells across the sea
Lives in a mountain
Like they see on TV
Down in the heart of town
The Devil dresses up
He keeps his nails clean
Did you think he'd be a boogeyman?
Poor Mama's stuck with sagging dreams
She'll sell a son or two into some slavery
That's lucrative and fine
Just teach them not to criticize
To yes the bosses, impress the clients
All teachers of the world teach them to fake it well
School bell go "Ding! Dong! Ding!"
The children all line up
They do what they are told
Take a little drink from the liar's cup