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  • A Yahoo! User
    A Yahoo! User • May 13, 2009 5:38 PM Flag

    When i was young

     

    it seemed life was so wonderful,a miracle,oh it was beautiful,magical.
    And all the birds in the trees,well they'd sing so happily,joyfully,watching me.

    Then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
    oh logical,responsible,practicle.
    And they showed me a world where i could be so dependable,
    clinical,oh,intellectual,cynical.

    There are times when all the worlds asleep,
    the questions run too deep
    for such a simple man.

    Won't you please,please tell me what we've learned
    I know it sounds absurd
    but please tell me who i am.

    This topic is deleted.
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    • Dr.Dose
      Dr.Dose Dr.Dose • May 14, 2009 10:33 AM Flag

      ...Yaz was my idol.

    • green monsta
      green monsta green monsta • May 14, 2009 3:13 AM Flag

      i hope you cut paste, d bag

    • fup duck
      fup duck fup duck • May 13, 2009 10:01 PM Flag

      When I was young and they packed me off to school
      and 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 morning
      with their God tucked underneath my arm --
      their half-assed smiles and their book of rules.
      So 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 have 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 school
      and have all the bishops harmonize these lines,
      How do you dare 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 have the whole damn thing all wrong,
      He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.