Eight in morn to eve's five,
With their spirits hardly alive,
When nothing to do but to cram,
Puke that crap and drive the sham,
Attending classes to shout that aye,
Weekend goes comes again Monday,
Just to gather 8 P's a day...
Toiling thru' d gloomy nights,
Hopin for the day of lights,
Couldn it b to a sensible extent,
If not much, abridge limit percent,
Dreary n bleary of that quotidian blase,
Here comes time for proxy kings to play,
Just to gather 8 p's a day....
When their cherished faith does shatter,
Quality over quantity doesn matter,
When profs do lose their cool,
Shortening lectures turns their tool,
Tormented souls they do inveigh,
Awakening call for someone to allay,
Elude us gathering 8 P's a day....