During 1969 the song “Hair” hit the charts with a bang. Every apprentice and hippy at last found justification to grow long hair because the song implies that God grows the hair and Jesus wore the hair long and hallelujah
A railways law dictated how long a worker, specifically an appy, may grow his hair. Mine was accepted as the longest and I was proud of it.This difference caused much bickering and battling as to the implementation of that particular law because the law stated not how long but how neat. Hair was supposed to be. (An abuse of human rights)
After a lunch break I returned to work to discover a group of people milling around the foreman’s office. As I approached the group I was grabbed and dragged into the foreman’s station wagon and held down while the foreman drove to the men’s hairdresser. I was so to say carried into the shop and curiously there was a vacant barbers chair: this little gag had been orchestrated by the foreman and the Barber.
She asks me why, I’m just a hairy guy, I’m hairy noon and night, hair that’s a fright I’m hairy high and low, don’t ask me why, don’t knowAt any rate I had the hair cut fighting every inch of the way. Generally raising pandemonium in the shop and attracting attention from the street. After that I remained dikbek for the rest of the week.
Give me a head of hair, long beautiful hair, Shining gleaming streaming,Flaxen, waxen. Give me down to there hair, Shoulder length or longer:Here baby, there momma, everywhere daddy, daddy
When I returned to the workshops I was greeted with compliments on my new look but told the observers to go and …….what-ser-name them selves.
Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, Hair, hair, hair: Flow it, show it, as long as God can grow it, my hair. Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in trees, give a home to the fleas in my hair. A home for fleas, yeah, a hive for bees, a nest for birds, there aint no words, yeah, for the beauty, the splendour, the wonder of my Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair,
This entire issue put me into a deep depression and switching me off from reality, reality, reality. I had a reality relationship: Just me and my hair, hair. Inseparable, impenetrable, venerable.
I want long straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratty, matty, oily, greasy, fleecy, shining gleaming streaming flaxen waxen, knotted, polka dotted, twisted beaded braided, powered, flowered, and confettied, bangled, tangled, spangled and spaghetti-ed, My toga made of blond brilliantined hair. My hair like Jesus wore it, Hallelujah, I adore it. Mary loved her Son, Why don’t my mother love me? Wonder who the composer was
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