you're back in the 80s but not by choice.
It's time for baldies everywhere
to rejoice at the sight of sprouting hair.
You look like an unbulbed lampshade,
a thatched cottage with years of neglect.
We've stolen the scissors, blades, clippers,
your scalp is choking beyond repair.
Furious flicks, the stress of not knowing,
rumours of a shampoo shortage are growing.
The strenuous shakes as your curtains close,
every day will be hide and seek.
To think you used to mock and squeak
as you rubbed my head then ran away.
Now my glorious bonce is a gift from God,
the bald revolution is here to stay.
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