Sweet little Ginny,
Doesn't it hurt?
That they constantly remind you,
Of those that you burnt?
You found the your love,
It all turned out fine,
Yet they plaster your truths,
On the tabloid signs.
Poor little Ginny,
Doesn't it hurt?
That they seem to ignore,
All that you've learnt?
You dated a boy
For two months in high school.
So now they call you a cheater,
And your husband a fool.
Sad little Ginny,
Doesn't it hurt,
That you're the reporter,
But the tables won't turn?
Oh no, your kids heard
the rumours, didn't they?
Now you cry when they ask,
about what the other kids say.
Mad little Ginny,
So full of spite.
Getting mad at what we say,
Like she has the right!