Hey you, Who me, Officer Krupke? Yeah you, gimme one good reason for not dragging you down the station, ya punk!
Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, you gotta understand, It's just our bringin' upke 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 oughta get, We ain't no delinquents, we're misunderstood, Deep down inside us there is good
That's a touching good story, Lemme tell it to the world, Just tell it to the Judge
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's care, It's just his neurosis that oughta be curbed, He's psychologically disturbed
Hear ye, hear ye 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 headshrinker
My daddy beats my mommy, my mommy clobbers me, My grandpa is a commie, my grandma pushes tea, My sister wears a mustache, my brother wears a dress, Goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess
Yes, Officer Krupke, he shouldn't be here, This boy don't need a couch, he needs a useful career, Society's played him a terrible trick and sociologically he's 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
Dear kindly social worker, they tell me get a job, Like be a soda jerker, which means like be a slob, It's not I'm antisocial, I'm only anti-work, Glory Osky, that's why I'm a jerk
Eek, Officer Krupke, 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
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, Krupke, we've got troubles of our own
Gee, Officer Krupke we're down on our knees, 'Cause no one wants a fella with a social disease
Gee, Officer Krupke What are we to do? Gee, Officer Krupke, Krup you!
the really weird thing about listening to this as a fifty year old, was the sad realisation that I never understood what I was singing when I was a ten year old. . . and how nothing really changes - all the issues in WSS are exactly the same now as they were then. . .