Forty-seven Years Old

My fellow teachers gave me candy and flowers. My students gave me hard liquor. Two classes sang to me; one of them composed their own song. More about my birthday coming soon.

To the tune of YMCA:
Now you work here
Where your students are dear
When you speak it is easy to hear you

You teach English real well
Your Estonian's swell
You let us out before every bell

But you still look rich
You've got no reason to bitch
You drink so much damn coffee
You're twitching