It’s true that our faces have pimples,

And our teeth don’t look perfectly straight.

We’ve never had cute little dimples,

And maybe our figures aren’t great.

But just because Cinders is pretty,

And our mum went and married her dad,

That horrible brat just wants pity,

And tells the whole world that we’re bad!

We’re always doing the housework,

While she simply sits on her bum,

And when we dare tell her she’s lazy,

She bawls ‘You’re so mean! I want mum!’

Then dear little Cinders will simper,

With tears in her lovely blue eyes,

And claim that she acts as our slave-girl.

Baloney! She’s telling you lies!

All that she wants is to marry –

As long as he’s handsome, of course,

Is loaded with gold and with money,

And cuts quite a dash on a horse.

A career? For Cinders? Forget it!

She just wants to go to a ball,

And wear the most ludicrous dresses.

She thinks that in life, that is all.

So yeah, we are not really lookers

(Though Cinders’ the one who complains),

But while that small brat is off whining,

We will be using our brains.





2 Comments to “Balls”

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