She's trying to cut her man's long hair
I hear her snipping here and there
Its seems as if she doesn't care
This was a big mistake, I swear
I squirm a lot and shift around
As my poor locks fall to the ground
Although her manner is quiet mild
The scissors in her hand is wild
I only look up once or twice
And still it seems to be quiet nice
Its just the same when you throw dice
It could be hack, it could be slice
If there's a next time, which I doubt
I'll have to keep a sharp look out
I'm very tempted now to shout
'You cut more off I can't go out'
'Don't move' she says 'or you'll get cut'
'Don't worry cause I need my nut'
I love her still I must say, but
She's made me look like old King Tut! !
Roy Jenkin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem