If I brought a note to school
That said my days were numbered
Or strangle me with jump-leads
The bicycle bells, the bicycle bells
Momma, momma, momma, Help me!
I've no excuses for my lack of guts
Ready for the polythene bag
I've never been a natural
I've never been good at cross-country running
Since the first football hit me in the ear
Was written on the blackboard
Running through the corridors
Bursting for the crap I know
They'll never let me have
I torture myself in private
To prepare me for the pain
I talk to myself in public
On the buses and the train
My father just ignores it
'Cause it goes against the grain
Momma, momma, momma, Help me!
Booming round the corridors