He's extremely well-to-do,
Surrounded by retinue.
He is famous on the air
For his show and shock of hair.

High-roller with big dollars,
What's that above his collars?
His mane looks leonine,
On pate--hooked rayon twine.

If wind blew
Like hurricanes in the bayou,
It wouldn't move, this bouffant biz.
Puttin' on some frizz.

On his shiny pate, he pastes coats
Of a slimy plaster--takes hold,
Fur-crest rig,
Puttin' on a wig.

{verse 5,version 1}
Tressed up with a many-dollars toupee,
For that carpet, what'd that dude have to pay?
Loose-splay?
Mousse-spray!

{verse 5,version 2}
Tressed up with a tonsure-topping toupee,
French barber says, "C'est sécateur-coupé."
[sotto voce]
"Roué rouet!
Bouffon bouffé!
Bourde pas bouclé!"

{translation:
"I need hedge-clippers to trim it."
[under his breath]
"Red-mullet roué!
Puffed-up buffoon!
Curl-curbed boob!"}

In mane's mixed what Rockefeller found, made rich,
Or frothy gel 'r pomade pitch--
Peruke moussed is slick.

Holdin' down, sans hat, peruke, so happy,
All tressed up with straightened strands not nappy,
Never flappy.

He's de-haired but has this top thing that he snared
When merkin* shopping for gal's gig'. . .
Pussy mop, his wig.


*false hair for the female pudenda