My shiny sinewed stubble skull,
Stumbled across the crooked line,
Between sexy shaved head,
And scary shaved head,
Holding affectedly gruff pauses,
In semi-effeminate poises,
Wished I wasn't conscious of compensating,
For this when I whistle.
Any singing or smiling I do is now suspect.
This admittedly-last angry man,
Is not actually angry at you,
Somehow no hair means I'm mean,
A hairstyle can make me a hostile,
Like my gender generically engenders,
Your feeling genuinely endangered.
Now I'm no gentleman,
But I am generally gentle in my agenda.
As much as I revel in the idea,
That the whole room will clear,
Soon as I yell "boo!",
I still flinch cowardly from loud noises too.
You wanna talk fear and intimidation,
From something like shaving,
Explain then why this fuzzy cranium,
Should seem any tougher than smooth legs,
'cause that is a concept that goes way over my head.
Some alternative titles were:
-"Favour the Bald"
-"Hair of the Dog"
-"Ahead of Myself"
-"Frankenstein Needs Friends Too"
All of which I also unsuccessfully tried to intergrate as additional puns.
(Oh, and I am so-gonna perform this one folks, maybe I'll even shave my legs for it too)