Bald Whitfield Street Rough Mix

It was a pill that male pattern Baldness is setting. His hair had done alarming pace, Running away from his face. He's losing his virility, And now his masculinity has Been compromised and he's repeated to Himself. Not for me, not For me, oh, me, heaven forbid. It's not for me, you understand. Whoa, just read it and see. Whoa, Hey, it's tested to the breeze. Whoa, whoa, tonight thank God. Thank God it's dead on me. From what I have been reading, The scalp needs me. To stimulate his follicles and reverse his Diabetic hold. Condition that's afflicted him For years and it's cruel. The poor thing's potential mind, It left him with a barren brain. Not for me, me, oh, oh. Not for me, not for heaven forbid. It's not for me, you Understand. Whoa, just read it and see. Whoa, Hey, it's tested to breeze. Whoa, whoa, tonight thank God. Thank God it's dead on me. Not for me, not for me, not for Me, oh, Not for me, heaven Forbid. It's not for me, you understand. Not for me, not for me, not for me, Oh, oh. Not me, not for me, Heaven forbid. It's not for me, you understand. Whoa, just read it and see. Whoa, Hey, it's tested to the breeze. Whoa, whoa, tonight thank God. Thank God it's dead on me. Oh, Whoa, it's tested to the breeze. Whoa, whoa, Tonight thank God. Thank God it's dead on me. Ow.