She was a pretty little mess,
One two many drinks,
A silly teenage fool,
One that doesn't think.

They all called her a *****,
She wore a very short black dress
They said: "***** little ****!"
She thought: "but am I pretty yet?"

She danced against the wall
Until she caught an eye
She stumbled to the settee
Sat down on someones knee

They didn't talk for long,
No, they didn't speak at all;
Only breaths and gasps and whispers
The sound of a mistake

Of course, she had planned this all
And hoped that he might call
She blamed it on the drink
She said she didn't think

This happened many times,
Each night a new regret
And every morning she wondered
"Am I pretty yet?"