While no Fred Astaire, nor mayor of debonair

Let it be said

He had his fair share of hair

 

Zigging and zagging and contented within

As advice was bestowed with a pint and a grin

 

But despite Mon frère’s intent to impair

They spewed non sequiturs, faster than a hare

 

So with aimless precision he made the decision

To continue the folly of pointed derision

 

And in the face of collision, like nuclear fission

The evening collided with a cheerful fruition

 

Under the glare of the wear and the tear

Let it be said

He had his fair share of hair

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