I've been teaching my homework for the last year, and Pa's coming back and he's saying, "Teaching has not been written yet," and I'm going to wake her up and eat my hands and eggs tonight, but he's been talking about it all the time, and he's throwing his face in the trash cans, and I don't want to fight and I don't want to fight, I'm full of gas, I'm sick of stomach pain and I'm just telling the answer, the child still knows nothing, doesn't know anything, doesn't understand anything, I'm going to tell her, I'm going to tell her, I'm going to tell her, I'm going to tell her, I'm going to hurt her, and I don't understand you, and I'm going to put oil on the fire and fuel the bad habits of the child. I can't find anyone in this world who can tell you what's in my heart. I'm the national agent for the hyenas and orchards. I love the fruit. I'll give it to you
