Naps In Your Nice Hair

My hair fills the circumference of itself And takes up space with little help It goes the only way it knows In tightly bound cornrows In church the preacher talks about my hair To entertain everyone there Saying 'comb out your unchristian naps!' Someone says 'Amen' and claps I cannot change the cross-heavy volume But no one hears over the organ's tune I turn the locks into a twist Can't wear my church hat with hair like this My hair fills the circumference of my life Till there is space for nothing else about me.