it’s the girl who’s wrong
and wrong and wrong.
Wrong colour, wrong shape, wrong size, wrong style,
nose too large and mouth too wide,
eyes that glitter when sparkle they should,
feet that trip when catwalk they could.
I wish, I want, I need, I, I.
Become the mantra for an industry’s supply.
Silky hair swinging side to side
Flawless skin one has ever spied.
She swings, she smiles, I hold my breath
I gasp for air when our eyes have met
I slide on the curves of Time’s refrain
Hourglass or dumbbell, they’re all the same.
I’ll guide her through what she needs to do.
Her shape, her walk, change her lipstick’s hue.
Her smile now fades, she frowns, she thinks…
Could she have a will peeping from those chinks?
She makes these statements that start with ‘I’,
she makes her point. Oh why won’t she try
to say yes and leave it well alone –
she argues she is fair and will my views condone!
Thwarted. Who me? Never can it be.
She’ll learn she argues unnecessarily.
I dub her rigid, I dub her wrong
and if she disagrees she’ll prove my song.