I'll be walking in the halls one day and someone will touch my hair. I turn around and find its a complete stranger, usually a girl because they cant resist the fro. Then they will just walk away and all I'm left is a vivid picture of their ass. After staring at that ass for a few moments, I finally realize that that girl is a complete stranger and I continue with my daily schedule. Then I'll be walking around Kentlands later that day a a balding man in his early fifties will come up to me and tell me how he used to have my hair. And I'll just think, "No damn way this bald guy had my hair, I mean he's bald god damnit." So i am left with the conclusion that he's just some old pedofile that is hitting on me. Creepy. Now you kids understand what its like to be me. So I wrote a poem about it. What can I say? I'm an emo-kid.
You keep me hot in the summer,
And hot once more in the winter,
but when people see me with you,
its like a really moderate splinter.
You help me pick up chicks,
and many balding men.
People wonder when I will cut you.
I say never, not for any of 'em.
Because you are my one and only fro.
You follow me where ever I go.
It bounces like a big yo-yo.
You will help me make dough.
Your use full in many ways.
I cant grow my vegies.
Keep school supplies there.
And fly me all the way to Denny's.
