Miss Mary, quite contrary, Hair the color of wool. Miss Mary, quite contrary, Jumps around like a fool. For all her toys, no little boys, to play around with her. She's gone mad, it's quite sad, that's for sure. She beats the dogs with her specter, they've howled for days and nights. She slaps the maids who now need aids since she sent them into a fright. A spoiled girl, one of stone, but one thing rings true, try to be nice, try to stay cool, and she'll hit you.