You Played Yourself: Knives Out

Here we go, first class in Food Tech,

That’s cooking class to the uninitiated, a new world opens in eighth grade,

Students split into groups, assigned a stove each,

Complete with tools and equipment necessary to whip up a simple meal,

Ain’t no Masterchef shit here, gotta start with basics first,

Excitable teens quickly presenting challenges for teacher,

For the most part they’re diligent, some more experienced than others,

The temptation to trigger a food fight must be all-consuming,

Thought the class needed laughs so you did the next best thing,

Pinned a knife between your right armpit, stumblin’ like a stabbing victim,

Had your groupmates giggling while others shook their noggins,

Teacher wasn’t buying it, boy did he see red,

Ordered you to see him after class, better get ready for he’s about to whup your ass,

Slapped you with after school detention, the price of your clowning,

Come home time while others are charging out the gates, you’re sitting in a room ruing your mistake,

Good luck explaining to your folks why you came home so late,

‘Til then, sit back and relax, still got hours on your sentence,

There’s no other way around it, Dude you played yourself.

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