THE HAIRCUT SONG

Written by Ray Stevens

Well, when you get a haircut
You'd better go back home
When you get a haircut
Get a barber you have known
Since you were a little bitty boy
Sitting in a booster chair
'Cause you might look like Larry, Moe or Curly
When a stranger cuts your hair

Oh Lord!
Well Butte, Montana, just a-passin' through
One thing I just had to do
Had to get a haircut--and I was worried for my hair!
I had a feeling of impending doom
The minute I stepped into that room
And laid my eyes upon that barber chair

(spoken)
It was a macho barbershop. Hair dryers mounted on a rifle rack. Weren't no mirrors. Barber chair was a Peterbilt. Barber walked in--he was huge...7 feet tall, 300 pounds of springs, steel, and rawhide. Wearing a hardhat, chewin' a cigar, had a t-shirt on that said "I HATE Musicians". Threw me in the chair, sneered and said "What'll it be, pal?"

Now, a lot of people would be intimidated in a situation like this. I was not. I am what I am, play my piano, and I sing my little songs. I looked him right in the eye and said "I'm a logger."

"Just up from Coos Bay, Oregon. Been toppin' trees. Quite possibly the toughest man in the ENTIRE world."

He said "Alright!" and he gave me a haircut and I walked out of there --my hair was GONE. Made Kojak look like Bill Golden. Yeah, had a tremendous craving to operate heavy equipment! Now you may think that Butte, Montana hair cut's the worst you could ever get. WRONG!!

(sung)
Well a few months later I was in L.A.
Truckin' along on a smoggy day
Needed a haircut so bad I looked like Bozo the Clown
I was looking shaggy and not too good
And I put it off as long as I could
But Good Lord, I hate to get a haircut out of town!

(spoken)
Well, I walked in a realized immediately that this guy was into punk rock. The walls were done in black leather. Had chains and whips and handcuffs hangin' on it. Barber walked in, he had orange hair. Black mascara. Stainless steel teeth. Black leather jacket with zinc studs. He threw me in the chair, hit me a couple of times **WHAP** **WHAP** chained me down, threw a Nazi flag over me. He said "I'm gonna tell you something that might make you a little nervous." I laughed **nervous laughter** I said "What could possibly make me nervous?" He said "I'm gay." NOOOOOOOOOOOO problem!! I'm not threatened in anyway, I'm secure of my manhood, everything's cool...I am what I am, play my little piano, sing my little songs.

I looked him right in the eye and said ...."I'm a logger."

Played football in high school. I was in the Marine Corps. He said "Alright" and he gave me a haircut. I walked outta there, friends, and my hair was PURPLE. Well, at least that mohawk section down the middle was purple...had a white streak down one side. Other side looked like Mr.T. Had a couple safety pins in my cheeks. Felt a TEENY bit conspicous! Luckily, my next job was in San Francisco.

Shoot, I got up there, I didn't even stand out at all. Wasn't even close. Those people thought I was an insurance salesman!

(sung)
Well, a few months later I was way down South
Grits & gravy and a hush-yo-mouth
Hair so long I was starting to look like a man in drag!
It was then that the sheriff came up and said
"Boy you got too much hair on your head...you better get yourself a haircut---or a dog tag!"

(spoken)
Well, when I stepped into the shop I knew immediately I was dealing with a born-again barber. Don't see too many barber shops with a steeple. Had an organ in the corner. Choir. And usher led me to the barber chair. Barber walked in, started saying grace. "Oh Lord for these haircuts we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful Dominus paxus pax probiscum post mortum et tu brutae puella carborundum."

He was sort of half Baptist, half Catholic. Kind of a Capthist. He started cutting my hair and preaching at the same time, I mean, he's a wildman, scissors and razors are flying around my head. He's talking about liquor and wild women and music and sex and the evils of dancing and the music business in general--then he looked down at me and said "What do you do for a living?"

Now I'm not ashamed of what I do for a living. Work in bars and casinos. Round liquor and wild women. I just play my piano, sing my little songs. I looked him right in the eye and said "I run this church for loggers."

(sung)
Well, when you get a haircut
Be sure to go back home
When you get a haircut
Get a barber you have known
Since you were a little bitty boy
Sitting in a booster chair
'Cause you might look like Larry, Moe or Curly
If a stranger cuts your hair

Oh yeah.