Lost and feelin’ prone
The Rogaine bought
Appears to hamper hair to grow
I’m bereft
My shiny head is on display
No length to cover pate
And my hats I’ve thrown away.

I’m pondering my pride
While searching cabinets
For hide I must apply
Since the mop atop will make a man of me
Hormonal guarantee
My locks of liberty

But I’m lost without my rug
Should have bought two cos’ the fit is nice n’ snug
Head is blinding as
A light with harmful rays
The bright within a blaze
I’m seen from outer space

It seems I’ll have to scrap
And maybe use those from my back

Yes it’s tough without my rug
Tried some paint I kept inside a plastic jug
Apple look I have
The green has got me miffed
I look like Granny Smith
I hope my stock will split

Of this my mind is sure
Ron Popeil has got my cure