The girls of Westchester are most obscene
Their hair and clothes and lips pristine
They make gossip for eachother
Each word they say about another.

I am fascinated by what they say
Gigging in tones that hurt and fray
Each girl a study all in her own
Yet at the same time, her true self not shown.

Marvel at their collared shirts!
Neatly pressed and ironed skirts
Smooth long hair and pastel grace
Adorning everything but little girl lace.

The sweet misguided boys fall prey to their charms
Sweeping them in amorous arms
They know not what their beauty has said
And that inside shes already dead.

You may think it cruel of me to assume
That every girl has met her doom
But forgive me if idoletry I do not share.
The girls of Westchester are my one despair.

Many times in the halls I've passed
A glimmer of a conversation crass.
Something about how Marie is a bore
Or that that girl Lauren is a whore.

I'm not innocent of these crimes, I know
I always let my true colors show.
But in my study of the girls with hair long
I feel maybe I'm doing something wrong.

For at my weight I'm not repulsed very much
I stopped using that as a crutch.
I do not think my looks unfair
I make the best with what I wear.

I don't complain about my breasts
And how the boys know nothing but chest.
Pardon me, I'd stare as well
When "Juicy" is written on the parts that swell.

My best friend is not a whore, I don't think this.
Was there a memo, something I missed?
Because I seem to be left out of this game.
I suppose I should hang my head in shame.

But I will not because you see
I really owe nothing to thee.
Your idle gossip does not haunt.
I think i'll do whatever I want.

The Girls of Westchester are in a dream
They keep their hair and makeup quite pristine.
But one day, I imagine, they will find
Life spares no one from the daily grind.







 
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