Well, Slim rode in from the sagebrush,His hair blowin’ wild in the wind,He said, “Boys, I need me a trimmin’,Or I’ll look like a tumbleweed’s kin.”
The barber was laid up and useless,His shop had a “Closed” on the door,So Slim found himself in a beauty hall,With powders and perfumes galore.
The parlor was busy with chatter,They said, “Honey, we’ll spruce up your look!”He asked for a haircut, plain cowboy,But they gave him a perm from the book.
They wrapped him in curlers and lotion,They steamed him till smoke filled the air,And when they unveiled their creation,Dog gonnit, he had poodle hair!
He strutted back out to the bunkhouse,His hat sittin’ high on the crown,The boys nearly died laughin’ sideways,Each time that his curls bounced around.
He showed up that night at the barn dance,His ringlets all bouncin’ with flair,The gals lined up just to giggle,While the fiddler near fell off his chair.
Now Slim swears he’ll stick to tradition,No beauty shops ever again,But the legend of Slim and his hair doStill rustles through the camps like wind.
