Where are the goofy hairdos of the past--
the ones my mom gave to my sisters, I ask?
They'd bring home a box of Lilt Home Permanent
To propel the girls' locks to the tonsorial firmament.
The kitchen would smell like a beauty parlor
And the hair on the floor made for short-term squalor.
The girls would emerge with their hair permanented
If mom screwed things up it would be thus cemented.

Whatever happened to the beehive do?
It was here, now it's gone-I haven't a clue.
According to urban legend there once was a fast girl
Who wore a stiff behive, with well-moistened spit curls.
She daily shellacked it with Dippity Do
till the thing was encrusted with that sticky goo.
Her social life died, and I sing her dirge,
'cause cockroaches out of her hair cone emerged.

I always thought the Prince Valiant was cute-
on good girls or bad it could be quite a beaut.
There was the girl "Lori" in the front row of French class-
Who I'd mentally dress as St. Joan to make time pass.
Astride her white horse, she would fight and save France,
And after we'd go to the victory dance.
She wore thick mascara, and was stacked like a hay truck
And her hair was as black as a new hockey puck.

Lori, the beehive and Lilt are all gone
But somehow or other we must struggle on.
From Wellesley in Mass., to suburban Cos Cob
The hair that I see is one big blur of frost jobs.
I'd give a buck or three or two
To see a flamin' 50's do.