The Centenary College of Louisiana

Date: Apr 28 2015
Major: Accounting (This Major's Salary over time)
At Fucking Centenary

At Fucking Centenary, the teachers are crazy and angry, the students are tired and dead; one teacher practices voodoo—they say the campus creates dread.

The freshmen ambling around, have no idea what there is to be found, the curriculum vitae? Airy-fairy—At Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary,

I would advise you, do not go—the atmosphere there is ruthless—for those of you not in the know.

The staff don't seem to care, there's deadness everywhere,

I hate that college, really. Which?

Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary, the schedule will leave you tired and bored.

The lectures and the lessons, they'll all leave you floored.

People drink, but you don't hear about it.

The students hide it.

I have to say the rules aren't fair-y—At Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary, there is no lunch-time; there is, let me finish this rhyme—the breath is being sucked out of you, day by day.

Leaving you to feel hopeless, tired and gray.

At this college, there is just no remorse,

I don't mean to be contrary.

But this school doesn't deserve an apology—It is Fucking Centenary!

It's the college that I hate, because when you wake up late, no one seems to care, you're just sat lying there, and your roommate's gone, and with no-one to call upon, you have no will to lift a finger, the people around you put you through the ringer, draining your emotional state, leaving you feeling bored and dreary—That's what it is like,

At Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary, people tend to ask me:

how is your day going?

To which reply I look down and avoid my looking.

One of us Centenarians made it on the 'net—which made the rest of us just about forget, that being valedictorian here doesn't make a difference, you just go through another day of intolerance.

At this college, there is no success story, when you go to

Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary,

nobody likes the work cut out for them.

People tend to complain and while away their sun.

And when the teacher hands them their \"A,\"

they don't celebrate or look at all gay.

Hard work is not it's own reward at Centenary—just look at me, do I look like the cat who ate the canary?

The world is blind to this place scary—Especially if you attend,

At Fucking Centenary.

At Fucking Centenary, people give you grades you didn't ask for, you can put in a big effort or you can do really poor.

That guy who does voodoo? I swear that he's evil.

And the other one, I don't know? He resembles a weevil?

I don't like this place, no not a bit,

I'd rather be done with it, just snuff it.

What makes the atmosphere here so creepy, scary?

I don't know!

At Fucking Centenary.

The sky is red, the grass is white—at least that's what it looks like, you're in for a fight.

This is what it comes down to, when the college is looking down you, the air is hot like blood, and be wary:

At the ever-Fucking Centenary.

I have one more caveat for you.

When your prospective student puts down his pen, to sign up for the school, make your amends.

It is not enough, to see the satisfied look on his face, when you know of the evil that abounds in that place.

Please tell him not to go,

I tell you, thro' and thro':

If he goes to Centenary,

His life will be bored, empty, fo' sho'.

Please tell the masses, that no one should go,

It's energetically dirty, nasty, a bad show.

It's rapey, mean, throws dirt in your face, it will leave you and your prospective a disgrace.

People there have just no care-y,

When you're going to Fucking Centenary.