To the tune of “It’s Hard to Be a Saint in the City” by Bruce Springsteen

It’s Hard to be a Mensa in Vocational

I had books bound in leather and the real shed skin of a cobra

I was born to forecast weather but I liked researching supernovas

I could walk like Stephen Hawkings right into the gym

Dance just like a  cat just run over

With my backpack and pencil and notebook all neat

Silver star stickers on my tests  were an everyday feat

When I strut down the street I fell over my feet

The sisters fell back laughing saying “Don’t that man look silly”

The bully on the corner cried out “Isn’t he a pity”

Them gasoline boys in auto tech never read Walter Mitty

It’s so hard to be a Mensa in vocational

I was the king of Algebra, I could talk some math

I was the prince of term papers

Churned out so my head wouldn’t be bashed

I was the jock’s main victim I looked just like a fool

When he pulled down my pants in the middle of school

And when the heat came down I was alone on the playground.

That devil appeared like Jesus, helping old ladies cross the street

Giving me the finger that even the Principal couldn’t see

I felt  evil eyes upon me as I sweated in the heat

It’s so hard to be a Mensa when you’re just a boy  being chased down the street

And the sages of the skill saws, they’re just like the living dead

When their bands crank out a rhythm, their eyes fix straight ahead

They use the beams of balance, in the science class they dread

But it’s too late for these cretins they get confused in the head

You get up to show them the next step

but they push you back down in your seat

Your heart starts beatin’ faster as you struggle to your feet

You run out of that class and pray who do you meet?

Them South Side Sisters giving you  looks of pity.

The bully on the corner telling all your friends in the city

Them shop boys all laugh at you and sure get giddy

It’s so hard to be a Mensa in vocational.

It’s so hard