He was a boy
She was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?
He was a punk.
And she did ballet.
What more can I say?
Yes, Avril. You can make it much more obvious. Telling me they're a boy and a girl is not nearly enough information. Are they star-crossed lovers who'll be driven to suicide by disapproving families? Are they brother and sister striving to take down the Empire? Is one a fair maiden imprisoned in a castle by her evil stepmother and the other a lovable scamp running away down the Mississippi?
Sure, maybe in retrospect it was indeed obvious that you were singing about some low-life punk and some girl who's been signed up for ballet classes. That would have been my next guess. And that's all you really needed to say. Really. Yet you feel compelled to continue the idiotic story, the moral of which seems to be that one never knows who might become famous, so one should always put out to hedge one's bets.
Come on, Avril, can't you leave the poor girl alone? She's a sad single mom no doubt regretting that her dreams of becoming a world-famous ballet dancer have come to naught, wallowing in so much self-pity that her friends don't even call to ask her out anymore. The last thing she needs is some snotty teen pop star writing an insanely catchy song making fun of her plight.
That makes you an awful person, Avril. An awful person singing an awful song from the awful title to the awful opening lines above through an awful story to the blessed fade out. But what's most awful is that I can't stop singing it!!