I was called out of my second grade class
And given a rather long test
Designed to prove that, with no shadow of doubt,
I was an egregious pest

The Doctor who gave it was Dr McGee
And he was a scary old coot:
He had but one eye, and it always was red
And he smelled like mothballs, to boot

He asked me some questions which I found quite strange
Like “Was it wrong to steal, or get caught?”
I told him that since I was seven years old
I’d not gave the matter much thought

He asked me a whole lot of things about Mom
He asked me a few about Dad
So I asked him about his parents, which seemed
To make him a little bit mad

I went back to class rather dazed and confused
My whole nice routine had been shifted
And it had turned out the worst way that it could
I had been told I was gifted

The stigma of gifts – it has followed me since
Through sunshine or rains quite torrential
For “gifted” is just another way to say
Someone who’s wasted great potential