Your mansion came first. When They learned you were coming,
They made to fix you up as They would the plumbing.
When the folks all get green and the gossip starts humming,
You know you’ve produced a fine “it girl.”

In the decadent world of white fans and grey plaid,
They’ll send you to ragers, assuming you’re glad
The occasional handsy fraternity lad
Thinks you look like a promising “it girl.”

If boys cross the tracks to fool round at your place
And the topic comes up of the family disgrace,
They’ll rub your possessions and wealth in your face
If you don’t raise your nose like an “it girl.”

When your eighteenth year comes, just to make it complete,
They’ll talk about surgery like it’s a treat.
You won’t find the tumors; your babies won’t eat,
But you’ll go to your bed like an “it girl.”

You know that They’re hoping for sniveling awe
When They tell you to show off your whole repertoire.
The next time They ask, it’ll be the last straw
And you’ll crack and throw fits like an “it girl.”

But if it’s your cage that you truly despise,
Then you will not persuade it with whimpers and sighs.
If you hop off the wagon and open your eyes
Then you’ll hold up your head like an “it girl.”