What is it with my hair? I don’t like what it’s done. Should I curl it or make a bun?
A rebellious bush flaming away on my head without restraint.
The brush can’t talk any sense into it. How about paint?
Hair! Hair! Hair poking out everywhere!
A cowlick here, a wild curl there.
Sometimes thin, other times thick.
I’ve tried a comb and even a hair pick.
I get it wet, I leave it dry. I suppose I’ll lose it by and by.
So I leave my wild hair… to have its way, and do what it dares.
Bottom line: I really don’t care.
I think you might feel all that I’ve said.
How will they comb it after I’m dead?
So, I let it go ’cause after all,
Kathy likes the bush on my head.