Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Terrible Poem About Wonderful Hair


Mrs. Donna Jean Godchaux,
How, oh how, does your hair grow?

“A hundred strokes of brush and then,
Another hundred strokes again.
Flaxseed oil, shampoos of beer,
(I only cut it once a year.)
I simonize and wash and dry,
And when the moon’s full in the sky,
I sacrifice a virgin fair,
For Sassoon! (He’s the God of Hair.)
The salty blood of my selection
Stains the mouth of my reflection.
Demon? Monster? All beware?
Kiss my ass: I’ve got great hair.”

That got weird.

“You asked, sugar.”


  1. Have you seen her lately? It’s only gotten better.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.