Pluck the matted back hairs, lift them from me
From follicles, they spawn so stiff on a span I never see
Little knack of shaving off that raspy stuff
I sought the stings of peeling wax, but that was way too rough. Oh

Pluck the shaggy carpet, strip it from me
And mollify that awful itch where my hands can never reach
Pluck the tragic eyesore, just set me free
To frolic with some awesome twit over sand upon the beach

Like sweaters frayed and raveled, all the growth instilled travail
Sadly slept unhooked and spurned, a gruff romantic tale
Hobos, twinks and grinches would howl at hairs untamed
Guys in kilts would blow (on) their bags with bluster unrestrained. Oh

Pluck the nagging back beard, give me relief
And polish off those knotted wicks, all the strands abashing me
Pluck the scraggly stragglers, snip ev'ry piece
Don't bollix up my shot at bliss in a grand catastrophe

A flagon gives me pleasure and blots out all the noise
Tainted drinks and pliant winks, I craved for utter joy
Hungry, tight and frazzled, tacky capers, aimed to score
And fluff that frighten'd dragon, unleashed as ne'er before

Her bed was bent and sorry, mean, stale, smelled like caves
Lust no longer lent its sway, no longer dared I crave
In doubt, this tight-thong said, "Tufts should not be shaved."
And thus this mighty Magnon gladly dipped to be her slave. Oh

"Love the magic back hairs, just right for me"
She rollicked in a wanton twist, in a trance, all fresh and free
"Love the graphic action", whistled in glee
I frolicked in a naughty tryst, in a dance called ecstasy