Some think my curls are mane that's plump, Byronic,
And so I lie, and so I lie.
Some think my mane is real, so it's ironic
That it's applied; hope they don't pry.
After I've showered where I was badly singing,
My phony mop's completely sopped.
I grab the dampened hairpiece and I'm wringing
Out every drop--then back on top.

Listin', listin', it's set back too far,
Slippin', slippin'; I need some pine tar.
Fallaciously follicular, fallaciously follicular.
Since my mane was marred. . . fallaciously follicular.

My fake mane's now aligned and it is lying
On pellicle,* on pellicle.
And when I have finished with the blow-drying,
I gel it full, I gel it full.
My wife says it's like trying to grow grasses
Upon a lawn, dined on by fawns.
On pate, cultivate what grows wild 'round asses--
The real ones gone; stick fake ones on.

Sticky, sticky--park it with pine tar.
Part it quickly, fix it if ajar.
Fallaciously follicular, fallaciously follicular.
Look like movie star, fallaciously follicular.

*Skin