Wednesday, January 15, 2003

My life is really a musical. At least, in my head. I'm just waiting for the perfect moment to jump into song and dance to sing this:

She asks me why I'm such a hairy guy.
I'm hairy noon and night. Hair that's a fright.
I'm hairy high and low. Don't ask me why. Don't know.
It's not for lack of bread like the Grateful Dead, darling.

Gimme a head with Hair - long beautiful hair.
Shinin', gleamin', streamin', flaxen, waxen.
Gimme down to there hair. Shoulder length or longer.
Here baby. There momma. Everywhere daddy daddy, Hair.
Flow it. Show it. Long as God can grow it my hair.

Let it flying in the breeze and get and caught in the trees.
Give a home to the fleas in my hair.
A home for the fleas. A hive for the buzzin' bees.
A nest for the birds. There ain't no words for the beauty,
the splendor, the wonder of my hair.
Flow it. Show it. Long as God can grow it my hair.

I want it long, straight, curly, fuzzy,
Snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty,
Oil, greasy, fleecy, shinin',
Gleamin', streamin', flaxen, waxen,
Knotted, polka-dotted,
Twisted, beaded, braided,
Flowered, powered, bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghettied.

Oh, say can you see my eyes, if you can
Then my hair's too short.

Down to here. Down to there.
Down to where it stops by itself.

They'll be ga-ga at the go-go when they see my in a toga
My toga made of blond, brillantined, biblical hair.
My hair like Jesus wore it. Hallejuah, I adore it.
Hallejuah, Mary loved her son. Why don't my mother love me.
Hair. Flow it. Show it. Long as God can grow it my hair.

I have the song down. It's the choreography that's a bitch...

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