'Twas Brillcreme on the shiny dome
Teased high, a temple to pomade,
All nitsy was the borrowed comb,
And the grown shafts Rogained.

Behaired, the jazzy mop that's plumped,
Air-dried just right, care plied on thatch.
Dehaired, it's buzzcut, fur sheared, stumped--
The crewcutter strands did snatch.

He took his shornful sword in hand--
You look like Manx some backhoe fought.
Divested clean of your snug-rug sheen,
Your hooded style is shot.

This twit, he cutteth not so good;
The jagged mop looketh quite lame.
Shaved bristles smoothed; a toupee's stood,
And fur-frilled, face is framed.

Once hewed, once hewed and through and through
The shornful sword went scissor-thatch.
It left you shed of frizz on head
And rent to clumpy patch.

And hast thou mane! Nay, jagged mop.
Bummed and alarmed, though keenest, "Oy!"
No Fab Four pate; all roots vacate--
Resort to hirsute ploy.

Th'art bilious; thou appli'st to dome
A fine example of pomp'* aid.
Gone missing is the burrowed comb
In headbone-grabbed faux braid.


*short for "pompadour"