When you leave the barber’s chair,
What becomes of all your hair?
Legend has it, so they say,
Goblins cart the stuff away!
Late at night they raid the shops,
Sweep up what the barber drops.
Down beneath the ground they take it,
Fry it, salt it, lightly bake it,
Sprinkle it with spice and earth,
Then sell the stuff for twice its worth.
Every summer at the fair—
Goblin-Gathered Human Hair!
Thin as noodles, sharp as pins,
Full of healthy vitamins!
Moist, and never dry or dreadful,
Only seven bucks a headfull!
Even at the pool or beach,
Goblins keep your hair in reach.
All the Goblin men and women
Eat your hair and then go swimmin’—
(After twenty minutes rest
So the hairballs can digest).
From a bag or from a box,
Goblins love to munch your locks!
If you think that tale is gripping,
Ask about your toenail clippings!