You ought to get your hair cut, it's getting awfully hippy-like
The barber closes soon, you better make it zippy
Like a cheetah sporting some Adidas so you
Run from here to there, as the wind blows through your hair
Suddenly you stop
Perhaps you like your mop
Now we gotta know,
You run into the store, and meet with Mr Barber
As he starts to cut your hair, the fellow seems to harbour
An improper eagerness to chop your ears off
Suddenly those dull, dull scissors jam into your skull
The man says "oopsie-daisy,
Sometimes my hands go crazy"
Blood begins to spout