Bad Haircuts
Out in dusty Abilene, where hats outrank the law,
There lived ol’ Buck McGraw, whose hair defied all flaw.
He rode to town one Saturday, to court a beauty fair,
But tripped inside a salon chain run by a man with purple hair.
“Just trim the back and mind the sides,” our cowboy gave his say,
But the barber grinned like Satan’s twin and snipped his pride away.
With gelled-up peaks and parted bangs, he looked a city clown,
The mayor gasped, “This ain’t Fort Worth—we got standards in this town!”
He strolled outside with stiffened hair that smelled like mango glue,
The cows just stared, the chickens fled, the barn cat cried, “Adieu!”
His horse refused to carry him, said, “Partner, get a hat!”
Even tumbleweeds rolled faster just to dodge where Buck was at.
The preacher screamed, “You’ve shamed the Lord!” while kids just laughed and pointed,
“You look like someone’s Pinterest fail, or a wig that’s demon-anointed!”
But Buck stood tall, though head askew, and gave a cowboy yell,
“If fashion’s pain, then I’m in hell—but dang it, I look swell!”
Now legends spread from ranch to range of Buck’s bold barbershop dare,
And city folk drive out for miles just to photograph his hair.
So if you see a man who looks like he lost a fight with flair,
Tip your hat to Buck McGraw, the fashion pioneer of hair.
Last Updated on March 3, 2024 by Alan Nafzger