Your hair is the thickest of all, my son
It’s easy to cut which makes it real fun
Unfortunately, you don’t share in my joy
Trimming ’round your ears makes you annoyed.
In fact, though you’re easier than your brothers
You made enough fuss to beat all the others.
It’s very hard for Independant Four
He makes his hair trimming into a chore.
Though he promises at first to sit very firm
In less than two minutes he begins to squirm
In short it’s a miracle that he isn’t quite bald
From mistakes made due to his wiggling fault!
My son, I never knew you could turn that hue
As you sweat and wail for you know it’s true:
Dinosaurs need no haircut; elephants, either.
So you work yourself up into a low fever.
Until the moment the razor ceases to hum,
You growl and roar at me, my littlest son.