A happy start, a sad, sad ending,
For every minute of the story.
Watch as their wills are broke and bending.
See the good girls in their glory.
We're a primary academy, we're a secondary seminary
Teaching finishing rinse and dancing tips and scorn.
Always concerned with plummeting virginity rates,
We lecture young girls on how babies are born.
Children! Make a chain! Children! Make a chain!
The staff here is severe yet so altruistic.
It hurts us more than it hurts them.
The new girls are tender. The old ones sadistic.
The late janitress was a gem.
Don't believe what the boys from next door heard.
Requirements do include math.
We draw straws and put our best foot forward.
Down the straight and narrow path.
Listen to the pretty song.
Happy as the day is long.
Forget the things you thought you knew.
We'll make a very good girl of you.
A pupil tranferred here from Lavender Lake.
She wrote a winning essay on self-denial.
Some under-age urchins were forced to matriculate,
Their records kept here undefiled.
A neat retreat slips through the fingers.
Which little girl made the plan?
Surely involved were the vespers bell-ringers.
Down a ladder, through the gate, then they ran.
And the girls ran out of the schoolyard and up the hill behind.
"I'm scared!" said the littlest one.
"Don't worry." said the leader.
"They can catch us or they could kill us,
But they can never crush our spirits."
