Happy Birthday Daniel.
I love your poke-up hair because you get it from me.
I love you.
I love you.
When you’re two your hair won’t flop
Or lay down nice and lazy
It wakes up first with a bit of a burst
And pokes out rather crazy.
“What did you do to your hair last night?”
Says mom with a bit of delight
“Now it’s time to get you dressed
So you won’t look a sight.”
Mom gets the gel and the great big comb
And says, “Will you please hold still?”
But your body itches and then it twitches
As you race to the kitchen for a meal.
“Come back here you little monkey,”
Your mother says with a dare.
“You will be quite a scare
If you don’t let me comb your hair.”
But who needs combs when a banana will do
As you rub fingers like so.
Added to hair it makes a great paste
Keep rubbing for a glistening glow
After breakfast it’s time to race
And jump up on all the beds
Tired old moms just won’t last
Just like she has said.
When daytime turns to nighttime
Mom never pinned you down.
Your crazy hair survives the day
After somersaults in a bound.
The hair gel and the big comb
Are lying all alone.
“Your hair still looks crazy,”
Says mother with a moan.
Then you smile and mother melts
Like butter in the sun
She takes you in her arms and sighs,
“You are my precious son.
Someday you’ll worry about your hair
But today is not that day.
I like your hair a little bit crazy
Let’s hug each other and play.”