There once was a pretty good student,
Who sat in a pretty good class
And was taught by a pretty good
teacher,
Who always let pretty good pass.
He wasn't terrific at reading;
He wasn't a whiz bang at math;
But for him education was leading
Straight down a pretty good path.
He didn't find school too exciting,
But he wanted to do pretty well
And he did have some trouble
with writing,
And nobody had taught him to
spell.
When doing arithmetic problems,
Pretty good was regarded as fine;
Five and five needn't add up
to ten,
A pretty good answer was nine.
The pretty good student was happy
With the standards that were
in effect,
And nobody thought it was sappy
If his answers were not quite
correct.
The pretty good class that he
sat in
Was part of a pretty good school,
And the student was not an exception;
On the contrary, he was the rule.
The pretty good school that he
went to
Was right there in a pretty good
town
And nobody there ever noticed
He could not tell a verb from
a noun.
The pretty good student, in fact,
was
A part of a pretty good mob,
And the first time he knew what
he lacked was
When he looked for a pretty good
job.
It was then, when he sought a
position,
He discovered that life can be
tough,
And he soon had a sneaking suspicion
Pretty good might not be good
enough.
The pretty good town in our story
Was part of a pretty good state,
Which had pretty good aspirations
And prayed for a pretty good
fate.
There was once a pretty good nation,
Pretty proud of the greatness
it had,
But which learned much too
late,
If you want to be great,
Pretty good is, in fact, pretty
bad.
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