Whisper, whisper, gossip, giggle.
Pretty girls in high-pitched tizzles.
Look at me, then look away:
the perfect, prim, UN-enchantÚ.
'Cause they can't stand the way I look,
'Cause I don't read the 'priss-miss book.'
I don't get tips from magazines.
Don't plan my prom from Seventeen.
I don't spend hours in choosing flats.
I don't take bath-salt bubblebaths.
I wear t-shirts, ripped-up jeans;
Flip-flops on sandpaper feet.
I'll dance around in mud and rain,
'Til high-up girls would cringe in pain.
I wear my hair in simple styles
And don't keep boys in "love" beguiles.
I dance the way a real girl should;
For fun and not to "show the goods."
I don't completely keep the rules
That socially would make me "cool."
But I don't really wanna be
The Princess Prep, the big Queen Bee.
I'm cool with what I've got to be.
I'm here, I'm real, I'm simply me.