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I learnt a lesson well today on how good hygiene works,
and how sometimes it doesn’t pay, to gain professional perks.
It was Mick the barber’s little lurk that put up this dreadful case …
I’ll never trust another soul when shaving whiskers off me face.

The local footy club had organized a social ‘do’,
on this Friday night that I had bought some tickets too,
where me wife and I will manage, to get half full and skite,
but I had to get a haircut to look half decent for the night.

So I knocked off picking apples at around a half past four,
and drove off to Mick the barber where I sat and waited for,
my turn to sit down in his chair and that could be a while,
as there are two ahead of me, and the first has little style.

His hair was long and rank and by his whiskers it appeared,
he hadn’t shaved for quite a while, so had a stubble beard.
Mick clipped his scissors through the hair; saying as it gently fell,  
“Once I’ve finished with your hair would you like a shave as well?” 

This fella gave his face a gentle rub and then he quietly speaks,
“My razor can’t get close enough and leaves a shadow on me cheeks,
Would I be wasting all me money here?” Mick gave a cheeky grin,
“No, not at all, for I’ll fix that” then reached inside a bin. 

Mick picked up this wooden ball and fingers rolled it with his thumb,
“Just place this in your mouth between your left cheek and your gum,
I’ll pass the razor ‘round the contours and when yer feel yer cheek,
yer won’t even feel the stubble if yer don’t shave fer a week”. 

I watched Mick do his business and by gee you know he’s right,
the skin is looking more like silk and not a shadow is in sight,
then I saw a frown come on the face of the fella in the chair,
and in a garbled voice he sort of spoke with some despair.

“This bloody ball keeps rolling ‘round, and I can’t follow it,
what happen’s Mick if just by chance that I swallow it?”
Mick wiped his razor on a towel, then filled the bloke with ‘horrer’,
“Just do what all the others do - and bring it back tomorrer!”
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