Mama said, “ You need to get your hair done, Perry.”

Yet I wouldn’t dare

You see I have a fear of those long scissors

And the ladies with too much hair

Mama said, “Perry, that just won’t do.”

Yet, I didn’t care

The hairdresser’s nails were like clippers

And the gossip mill has too much to hear

Whether my hair goes up or down

Either way, I look like a clown

With my hair two directions

It’s hard to find the nearest intersection

My hair eats combs and brushes too

It gets tangled

All the way down to my shoe

“I might as well cut it,” I said to mama

But then what would I do.

Seems like there is not much left

After a 46 inch cut

A Bob, a bob will do.

Short and nice

No tangles on this side

But plenty on the rest

My hair is now like a nest

Where birds come to rest