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Authors: Philip Kerr
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all day.
Our mothers and fathers are encouraging,
When what we need’s a walloping,
Or a clip around the ear.
Instead give each one of us the benefit of the doubt,
We loudly shout,
But getting it, we laugh and sneer.
CHORUS 1
The children of today
Are such a wicked streak.
They scrawl things on the wall
But think reading’s for a geek.
Then there’s the fact they swear so much,
Routinely call you such-and-such,
Have manners that belong in a hutch
To a horrible guinea pig,
A rabbit or a rat,
Or even worse than that.
They seldom do their homework,
Or help around the house.
If you ask them they’ll just smirk
Or begin to loudly grouse.
And if someone else excuses them,
And argues it’s all okay,
The rest of us will say—Baloney!
It’s the children of today.
VERSE 2
Michael Mucus, Kate Ramsbottom,
Kevin Clipshear and Lloyd Sputum.
Here you see, just four of us.
Yet there are still more of us,
We’re the kids who’ll make you sick of us.
Since we’re appallingly behaved
We watch TV all day and half the night
Or play computer games and fight
Whatever monster some nerd created
But our amusement’s never sated
By destruction on a small square screen.
So we’d much prefer to have been
And smashed your window for the kick.
On cell phones we’ll text illiterate tripe
To some poor bullied type
Even though it’s rather sick.
CHORUS 2
The children of today
Are much nastier than of old
They don’t get up in the morning,
Or go to bed when told.
There’s the boy who threw his weight about.
His mother thought him such a lout
She bopped him on the snout,
And the boy let out such a wail,
That his mother’s now in jail.
The girl who kicked her sister
Got taken off to court.
She called the judge a blister,
Then a blackhead and a wart
Not to mention a nasty smell.
The judge ordered her to a cell
In which she should be locked.
He was shocked
By the children of today.
VERSE 3
Wilbur Dogbreath, Hugh Bicep,
Brad Undershort and Lenore Gas.
We can’t see the point of this or that,
We’d much prefer to set fire to a cat,
Or maybe an automobile,
But only after we’ve tried to steal
The contents of the trunk.
School we don’t believe important
Which is why we’re mostly playing truant.
We’d rather hang around the city streets,
Like a gang of idle deadbeats
Without a future or a purpose.
You’ll find our expression is morose,
Each of us you’ll probably think’s a punk.
So don’t be fooled we’re actually quite vile
Given an inch we’ll take a mile
And turn your property into junk.
CHORUS 3
The children of today
Have the chance to turn out well,
We’ve only ourselves to blame
If they make our lives a hell.
The court appoints them a defender
Who provides a story to embroider
And helps them get away with murder,
Or at least that’s how it seems.
So to parents we would remind
Sometimes it’s cruel to be kind.
You have to teach kids right from wrong,
And personal responsibility.
So that to something they’ll belong
And contribute to society.
But if we don’t, then we’re in trouble
This song’s incontrovertible,
Tomorrow’s citizens we must develop
Or we’ll simply end up
With the children of today.
When Mr. Rapscallion had finished singing his song, the customers on the gallery applauded enthusiastically. Billy had noticed some of them joining in the chorus, which made him think that they must have heard the song before. Mr. Rapscallion himself stood up and took several bows, as if he had been onstage in a concert hall.
Billy applauded as well, although he was just a little shocked by what he had heard. He was well aware that some children were naughty. And that some children from King Herod the Great Middle School could be very bad indeed. It could even be said that, sometimes, they were actually wicked. All over the walls and sidewalks of Hitchcock there was graffiti that had been put there by the KHG. And there was no
Our mothers and fathers are encouraging,
When what we need’s a walloping,
Or a clip around the ear.
Instead give each one of us the benefit of the doubt,
We loudly shout,
But getting it, we laugh and sneer.
CHORUS 1
The children of today
Are such a wicked streak.
They scrawl things on the wall
But think reading’s for a geek.
Then there’s the fact they swear so much,
Routinely call you such-and-such,
Have manners that belong in a hutch
To a horrible guinea pig,
A rabbit or a rat,
Or even worse than that.
They seldom do their homework,
Or help around the house.
If you ask them they’ll just smirk
Or begin to loudly grouse.
And if someone else excuses them,
And argues it’s all okay,
The rest of us will say—Baloney!
It’s the children of today.
VERSE 2
Michael Mucus, Kate Ramsbottom,
Kevin Clipshear and Lloyd Sputum.
Here you see, just four of us.
Yet there are still more of us,
We’re the kids who’ll make you sick of us.
Since we’re appallingly behaved
We watch TV all day and half the night
Or play computer games and fight
Whatever monster some nerd created
But our amusement’s never sated
By destruction on a small square screen.
So we’d much prefer to have been
And smashed your window for the kick.
On cell phones we’ll text illiterate tripe
To some poor bullied type
Even though it’s rather sick.
CHORUS 2
The children of today
Are much nastier than of old
They don’t get up in the morning,
Or go to bed when told.
There’s the boy who threw his weight about.
His mother thought him such a lout
She bopped him on the snout,
And the boy let out such a wail,
That his mother’s now in jail.
The girl who kicked her sister
Got taken off to court.
She called the judge a blister,
Then a blackhead and a wart
Not to mention a nasty smell.
The judge ordered her to a cell
In which she should be locked.
He was shocked
By the children of today.
VERSE 3
Wilbur Dogbreath, Hugh Bicep,
Brad Undershort and Lenore Gas.
We can’t see the point of this or that,
We’d much prefer to set fire to a cat,
Or maybe an automobile,
But only after we’ve tried to steal
The contents of the trunk.
School we don’t believe important
Which is why we’re mostly playing truant.
We’d rather hang around the city streets,
Like a gang of idle deadbeats
Without a future or a purpose.
You’ll find our expression is morose,
Each of us you’ll probably think’s a punk.
So don’t be fooled we’re actually quite vile
Given an inch we’ll take a mile
And turn your property into junk.
CHORUS 3
The children of today
Have the chance to turn out well,
We’ve only ourselves to blame
If they make our lives a hell.
The court appoints them a defender
Who provides a story to embroider
And helps them get away with murder,
Or at least that’s how it seems.
So to parents we would remind
Sometimes it’s cruel to be kind.
You have to teach kids right from wrong,
And personal responsibility.
So that to something they’ll belong
And contribute to society.
But if we don’t, then we’re in trouble
This song’s incontrovertible,
Tomorrow’s citizens we must develop
Or we’ll simply end up
With the children of today.
When Mr. Rapscallion had finished singing his song, the customers on the gallery applauded enthusiastically. Billy had noticed some of them joining in the chorus, which made him think that they must have heard the song before. Mr. Rapscallion himself stood up and took several bows, as if he had been onstage in a concert hall.
Billy applauded as well, although he was just a little shocked by what he had heard. He was well aware that some children were naughty. And that some children from King Herod the Great Middle School could be very bad indeed. It could even be said that, sometimes, they were actually wicked. All over the walls and sidewalks of Hitchcock there was graffiti that had been put there by the KHG. And there was no
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