It’s not easy to become a monk,
In math’s class, we look drunk,
Oh, that history what the funk,
Then we made a record in the bunk,
We do always wait at the gate,
As always somebody used to come late,
That morning lecture we all hate,
We all know well how to make a cheat great,
Why disturb a whole class,
But we have a group, not a mass,
When sir ask we do play pass and pass,
But some punish like hell do count grass,
We don’t understand all that boring lecture,
We made someplace our private sector,
To follow us, sir made a personal detector,
We have him we call him a group inspector,
We spend time, not for fun, we just do fight,
And need more space to make self-right,
We have a dog who doesn’t talk, just bites,
We all know well “letter” to write,
We have a lot of stories to tell,
Somehow to get IMP and then to sell,
In exam hall we perform role very well,
We cross thirty-three like we cross the hell,
No one meets principal no one care,
But we used to go twice a day there,
We silently listen to everything he shares,
But class sir shout out loud and do unfair,
Some witness rats know our crime,
But dog have power in hand he is prime,
Together we answer and make a rhyme,
We love to bunk and we will do it all time.
