Here's a poem on my class.
Ahem... mic check,1..2..3..
Walk a mile down the empty mall,
you'll come across a block with red-brick walls,
go inside, check those dim-lit halls,
then you'll wonder why the place is small,
come here, it's what I call,
Welcome to my school,
please stand tall.
Once you come in,
don't forget to see my class,
it's full of trash, made of brass,
kids; you'll see some kind,
some are going, leading the blind
and others are just, outta their mind,
going ahead, what's behind ?
some kids with their short attention span,
up in physics, what's the 'Big Bang' ?
[Is it what happens when I leave my parking stand ?]
listening to stupid rock bands,
"Linkin Park" ? Not what I planned.
A lot of thoughts in my mind...Crammed!
My mind isn't much heavier than a dime,
here, I'll describe it in the following rhyme:
do da dum dum dim dyme,
chappa chappa Calvin Klein ?
& I'm not the only one commiting this crime,
everyone in this class is full of grime.
The best they can do, is climb the ladder 'o time,
and burn the bridges behind,
You know why ? 'Cause this is Tenth-B,
The best you can find...