Phyl Lobl

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A Grand Profession

Words & Music: Phyl Lobl

 

 

When I was at school they said to me,
When you leave here what will you be?
Maybe the holidays helped me see
That I'd become a teacher.
So they packed me off to a teachers' school,
Filled my head with this golden rule,
‘Teaching's a profession its not for the fool',
Well I tell you they fooled me.

On Monday you arrive, reasonably bright,
The electrician's there to fix the light,
Or maybe a painter's wielding a brush,
And whistling away like a mating thrush
Above the noise your voice can't rise,
So you mix up the orders for pasties and pies;
And someone threw sand in someones eyes,
And the D.I.'s at the door.

Tuesday is Bank Day and so you begin,
Counting money into a tin,
Meanwhile  the class is making a din,
That would shatter the nerves of a saint.
It's then you begin to act like a crank,
Counting cents from a stuffed piggy bank,
Your fingers itch but you cannot spank,
‘cause teaching's a Grand Profession.

On Wednesday you have just settled down,
When the Boss comes in with a worried frown,
I'm afraid Mr. Smith had to rush into town,
You'll have to take two grades.
Well you've got grade Two and he's got Six,
It doesn't take long to find they don't mix,
And while you're searching for long stout sticks
You mutter, teaching's a Grand Profession.

On Thursday you think, I'll teach today,
I'll really earn my exorbitant pay,
Today I'll really show them the way,
And prove it's a Grand Profession.
But today is the day of the Mothers' Club Stall.
They're raising money for a mat in the hall,
The Government pay for some but they won't pay all
‘cause teaching's a Grand Profession.

On Friday you think this must be the day,
And then you remember, it's Yard Duty Day,
And picking up papers is a wonderful way,
To prove its a Grand Profession.
You stop little Johnny from strangling a kid,
Then you're sorry because you did,
And the dog that made off with the rubbish bin lid
Has returned with all his friends.

Now lunch time's a time when you coach a team,
And free supplies are a teacher's dream,
And there'll always be a new reading scheme,
That you'll be asked to try.
Though I won't strike for extra pay,
I'll strike for conditions that give me a way,
To teach a class for the whole of a day,
And to hell with the word Profession.
 

 
 
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