Unwashed, uncombed, they sit
On the rusted benches,
Sipping strong tea on credit.
“To class go the wenches
Dressed, snooty, trying to look classy”
The talk soon turns to philosophy:
“Girls read, not for love or sense
But to get marks, and marry
Not for love, but a pretense,
Boys who’ll be fat and dull with worry
Paying EMIs to enjoy marital bliss.
What’s true love for girls like this?
“Why dress up for such as these?
These puffs of friendship taste better.
That ass of hers is so meant to squeeze
Wish that one’s tits were a little fatter.
What do they know of love, these girls shallow?”
The boys laugh loudly, because it sounds hollow