I hope that the Principal spontaneously combusts
And nobody will rant and rave and fuss.
If she blew up while picking up trash
Whether bagel a-stomped or burger a-mashed,
Or violently exploded while giving a speech
Hanging around spying like a socialite leech.
Implosion to add flavor, it wouldn’t hit others
No blood splattered clothing, no curious mothers.
But the problem with this idea is simple, you see
‘Cause you know how awful the results would be.
The solution is apparent, yet the problem’s the same:
The next Principal would pick up the first one’s remains.
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