Dear, kindly Sergeant Krupke, You gotta understand, It's just our bringing up-kee 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. Like inside, the worst of us is good. There's a touchin' good story. Let me tell it to the world. Just tell it to the judge. Dear, kindly Judge Your Honor, My parents treat me rough, With all the marijuana, They won't give me a puff. They didn't want to have me, But somehow I was had, I sleep in 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's care. It's just his neurosis that ought to be piped, He's psychologically distyped. I'm dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're the most dystyped. Like we're psychologically dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. We're dystyped. He, he, he, in the opinion of this court, This child is depraved on account he ain't had a normal home. Hey, I'm depraved on account I'm deprived. So take him to a head-shrinker. Come on, let's go. My father is a bastard, My ma's an S.O.B. My grandpa's always plastered, My grandma pushes T. My sister wears a mustache, My brother wears a dress. Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a M.E.S.T. Yes, Officer Kropke, you're really a S.L.O.B. This boy don't need a doctor, Just a good honest job. Society's played him a terrible trick, And sociologically he's sick. I am sick. We are sick. We are sick. We are sick, sick, sick. Like we're sociologically sick. In my opinion, this child does not need to have his head shrunk at all. Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease. Hey, I got a social disease. So take him to a social worker. Social worker, yeah. Dear kindly social worker, They say go earn some dough. Like be a soda jerker, Which means like be a schmo. It's not I'm anti-social, I'm only anti-work. Glory asky, that's why I'm a jerk. Hey, Officer Kropke, you've 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 him, he's no good. I'm no good. We're no good. We're no good. We're no earthly good. Like the best of us is no damn good. The trouble is he's lazy. The trouble is he drinks. The trouble is he's crazy. The trouble is he stinks. The trouble is he's growing. The trouble is he's grown. Kropke, we got troubles of our own. Gee, Officer Kropke, we're down on our knees. Cause no one wants a fellow with a social disease. Gee, Officer Kropke, what are we to do? Gee, Officer Kropke, Krop you! The End