Wiggy

We get, uh, a lot of requests for, for, uh, comments

Generally during interviews and etcetera

About, um, uh, about what people should wear

And what people should do and how people should carry on

Um, we'd like to make one small comment on that

Uh, the name of the poem is Wiggy

And, um, we'll let the title stand for itself

Here's Wiggy

Still, Jemima du-head-ragged

Her 1920 mind was gagged

Undigging how very counterfeit that thing

Across her mind did sit

Wiggy

Gold and blonde, blood-red and blue

Sizzled, frizzled, and greasy too

Black woman still dig imitation

The mother of our horse-hair nation

Wiggy

Chemicalize your nappy top

Comb and brush that store-bought mop

Saturday night, you storm the block

Paint resembling electric shock

Woman, you are a laughing stock

Wiggy

Baby, we dig fuzzy heads

Cotton-soft, not woolward lead

Brillo crowns we all adore

As long as we are sure

It's yours