I went to the barber.
He cut off my hair,
which would have been great,
but he didn’t stop there.
He slipped with his scissors.
He snipped with his shears,
and cut off my eyebrows
and both of my ears.
I jumped in my seat
causing several more slips;
he cut off my nose
and my cheeks and my lips.
With one final slip-up
he cut off my head,
and that is the reason
I ended up dead.
So kids, if your dad tells you,
“You need a trim,”
just pull out this poem
and show it to him.
As soon as he reads this,
I’m willing to bet,
that that’s the last haircut
that you’ll ever get.
