Life isn’t like when I was little
Sometimes I like to think of those times
We’d all run outside onto the playground
With our playground rules.

We’d play all of our games:
War, king of the hill, tag and sometimes
We’d race for the heck of it.

Everyone was friends and
We knew each other well and
We were all invited to each other’s birthday parties and
No one was mean except for the one bully
On the playground who
Maybe took the juice box
Out of my hands once or twice.

But now the playground rules are different then so long ago.

We’re heavily divided by what we look like on the outside
Our war is no more, it’s what we write our essays about
With a three point thesis
King of the hill is all based on our social class:
The snobby rich kids always somehow claim the very top
While everyone else is at the bottom kissing the rich boy’s ***
Tag has been forbidden for a few years ever since the seventh grade
When a few boys thought it would be funny
To “tag” the shy girl’s chest
Race has become the color of your skin
Instead of a contest based on speed
If you’re not white like the rest of us, I hate to say it but you’re screwed.

The old bully’s been pretty busy if I remember right
He’s got no juice boxes to steal ever since we found the convenience of bottled water
He’s not even stealing anymore he’s giving out
With his special glasses case full of something that’ll make you real happy

Oh, whatever happened to the old playground rules?
My friends are all in jail so there’s no birthday party at my house
But there’s a party at that one guys house, open invite
So I guess I’ll go there, he said that in his room if you cut the lights
He’ll show me the old playground rules.