SGT KRUPKE (From West Side Story)

Dear, kindly Sgt. Krupke you gotta understand
It's just our bringing up-key that gets us out of hand
Our mothers all are junkies, our fathers all are drunks
Golly-moses, naturally we're punks
Gee, Officer Krupke we're very upset
We never had the love that every child ought to get
We ain't no delinquents, we're misunderstood
Deep down inside us there is good (there is good)
There is good, there is good, there is untapped good
Look inside, the worst of us is good

Dear, kindly Judge, Your Honor, my parents treat me
rough
With all their marijuana they won't give me a puff!
They didn't wanna have me but somehow I was had
Leapin' lizards, that's why I'm so bad
Right, Officer Krupke, you're really a square
This boy don't need a judge he needs an analyst here
It's just a neurosys that oughta be curbed
He's psychologically disturbed (he's disturbed)
We're disturbed, we're disturbed, we're the most
disturbed
We're psychologically disturbed

My father is a bastard, my mom's an S.O.B.
My grandpa's always plastered, my grandma pushes tea
My sister wears a mustache, my brother wears a dress
Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess
Officer Krupke, you're really a slob
This boy don't need a doctor just a good honest job
Society played him a terrible trick
Socialogically he's sick (we are sick)
We are sick, we are sick, we are sick, sick, sick
Like we're socialogically sick

Kindly social worker, they say go earn a buck
Like be a soda jerker which means like be a schmuck
It's not I'm anti-social, I'm only anti-work
Gloriaski, now that's why I'm a jerk
Officer Krupke, you done it again
This boy don't need a job he needs a year in the pen
It ain't just a question of misunderstood
Deep, down inside he ain't no damn good
We're no good, we're no good, we're no earthly good
Like a pest, a bug ain't no damn good

The trouble is he's crazy, the trouble is he drinks
The problem is he's lazy, the trouble is he stinks
The trouble is he's growin', the trouble is he's grown
Krupke, we've got troubles of our own
Gee, Officer Krupke, we're down on our knees
Cuz no one wants a fella with a social disease
Gee, Officer Krupke, what are we to do?
Gee, Officer Krupke, krup you!

from West Side Story, lyric by S. Sondheim

© 1997 morlock@worker.com