(tune: The Girl that I Marry)
The girl that I marry will have a degree,
Not B.A., nor M.A., but Ph.D.
A Mawrter to the core!
She's enlightened, but frightened:
Three locks guard her door.
Her suite will be occupied by ten cats,
A parakeet, goldfish, and two white rats.
Mind's precocious, hair's atrocious;
If you get her in bed, she's ferocious.
Her books are all fingered and thinly worn.
That text in her knapsack is really Greek porn.
Education, then stagnation,
Bryn Mawr women are doomed to frustration.
She seems to think all men have one-track minds,
While brushing her teeth, she first closes the blinds.
She's a sickly, strangely picky,
With her ten o'clock tea friends, she's cliquey.
Yet the Mawrter I cherish
Has deans that would perish
If they knew she was married to me
(spoken) For only failures wed!