I’m fed up now, believe you me,

it’s getting so I cannot see;

it seems to grow at such a speed,

my shaggy lockdown hair.

 

I know we have to isolate,

and though I squint to compensate,

a barber’s what I really need

to cut my lockdown hair.

 

It’s grown so long it’s in my eyes

and in the slightest wind it flies,

yet though I try to pay no heed;

I hate my lockdown hair.

 

So that’s it now, I’ve had enough,

I’m fed up looking like a scruff.

Let kitchen scissors intercede

to butcher lockdown hair.