You sit there, fat and cranky in your big-boy high chair
ranting and raving like you're the only one who matters in this god-forsaken world,
bitching about problems like waking up too early or having too much work to do,
all because of your tendency to procrastinate until the last possible moment,
and your desire to have something to bitch about to those around you,
your friends, your parents, every last stranger on the street,
because high school's the worst thing you've ever gone through.
Well listen here amigo, I don't give a damn about your problems,
I've got enough issues to go around, like college tuition,
the price of books higher than you can imagine,
you, the one all cuddled up in the arms of your cheap public school,
A meal plan, something around a buck-twenty-five each and every day,
easy when it's your parents who give give give.
I'm not so lucky,
days go by when I don't eat because I can't find a job to pay
for my needs, and you sit there, griping because people want you t