One two three four five six seven eight
Each foot in rhythmic movement
One two three four five six seven eight
Are the steps one takes

Tuner gone sharp edged
Not able to become natural
Singing the call of a dying duck
Rapidly changing fingerings

Hair pinned back with bobby pins
Headband  there for reassurance
Holding the black binder
Hoping for a power round

One two three four five six seven eight
An Irish jig takes the audience by storm
A girl with grace quick stepping away
One two three four five six seven eight

Drum major was her best bet
Buddying up with another made it easy
The shrill of the whistles called the Band Geek army

Swinging with her boy on the dance floor
Swinging with her friends on the dance floor
Swinging with her boy was the highlight
Swinging with her friends brought laughter

Makeup is hurriedly put on creating rosy cheeks
Excitement runs wild before the show
The final run through is the performance
Nervous twitters as hair won’t stay put

She is graceful
She is a drum major
She is Forensicator
She is Becky