"Mrs. Peters,
Why don't you come to your senses,
And buy contact lenses,
So you can see your classroom.
Oh, you're an old one,
And I know you are decayin',
But these things that you're sayin,
Just don't make any sense.

Don't you try the King of Rodgers boy,
He'll fail you if he's able,
You know that ol' bag Peters,
Is always your best bet...
Now, it seems to me some papers,
Have been laying on your table,
But you only grade Stacey's,
And flunk the rest ...

Mrs. Peters,
No, you ain't gettin' no younger,
You got too much hunger,
For Crane and Thoreau,
And what's that?,
Oh, that's just Adam snorin',
Cuz your class is so borin',
That he can't make it through.

Don't you get cold in the summer time,
Cuz when you walk out,
The sun won't shine,
It's hard to tell if you're with us today,
You're ramblin' on bout the status quo,
Ain't it funny how your students go,
Away....

Mrs. Peters,
Why don't you come to your senses,
And buy contact lenses,
So you can see your classroom.
And there is Kuhnle,
With his calculator he's playin,
You better stop your hair from grayin',
Stop your hair from grayin' (echoed)
You better stop your hair from grayin',
Before, it's too .... late.
"