I'm here to warn you all of a teacher in your school,
More foul than Simon Cowell and a dozen times more cruel,
A schemer. A despot. A crafty student captor.
Feasts on the fear of first years like some blonde velociraptor,
And she'll slap ya with a warning. Each and every morning.
For saying ‘hi' or yawning any time that you walk past her,
Nothing faster on two legs in the corridor she patrols.
The History ain't bright. The History's Miss Knowles.

For five days every week, students shuffle into class,
Hoping she isn't going to set yet more extension tasks,
Sitting in her throne, her potent voice will ask,
"Who thinks History's about the weak? Second place is as good as last!'
If the homework comes in late her eyes grow dark and smokey
Shares a surname with Beyoncé but don't mention karaoke,
Woe betide you if you're jokey, woe betide you if you're giggling
Forget Snape from Harry Potter, she's the perfect Head of Slytherin
A raise of brow, a lift of head and half the class start piddling.
Impaling those she catches fiddling on lengthy heels from off her soles
The History ain't bright, the History's Miss Knowles.

That's right, the History ain't bright, the History's Miss Knowles
She fills her drawers with tights in case the ones she wears get holes,
As well as the scent of fear that surrounds her in the gloom
Lunchtime sushi fills the air every single afternoon.
During her free periods she marks and thinks and swoons,
And dreams that Mr. Baxter would come visit her in her room.
And you are doomed if you dare to distract from this immersion,
She has a huge set of lungs for such a little person!
Don't go in there, try reversing, hurry, quickly, save your souls!
The History ain't bright, the history's Miss Knowles.