The maloccluded human race
Pays tribute to the wondrous brace.
Just a few short years of debt'll
Trap you teeth in wires of metal.

So what if we must sacrifice
Everything in life that's nice?
Eating sliced apples and mushy pears,
Corn off-the-cob, really, who cares?

With braces on, we must think twice
Before we suck a cube of ice.
Pencils to gnaw and bread with crust
Are pushed aside to gather dust.

The fate of our teeth is in our hands,
And too much pressure breaks the bands.
We grit our teeth, suppress our screams,
And chew on caramels in our dreams.

The nicknames' origins, we feel,
Come not from a mouth bound in steel.
"Tinsel Teeth" is long since stale,
And "metal Mouth" is at its tail

But those who play the insult game
Behave as though they'd coined the name.
We know they'll stop in a short while,
So we just smile a metal smile
And look for wires on those we hate
that we may retaliate.

Brace wearers are a patient lot.
We must be, considering what
We go through-sore gums wax-padded,
Oatmeal when tight wires are added,
And other such indignities
That go along wearing these.

But we just hold our heads up high;
On orthodontists' chairs we lie,
For they're the ones who control the rate
At which our crooked teeth turn straight.

In mirror dreamily we gaze,
And eagerly we count the days
Till we'll display our brand-new bite
With teeth now back to gleaming white