"Under Santa's Hat"

By Rick Ryan
Under Santa's hat, there is a curious little crop, His bottom may be fat, but he's been getting thin on top
The fuzz above his forehead's like a field that's underfed; It won't be long until there's not one hair on Santa's head.

He knows how cold each winter gets, how every sneeze can freeze; So he searches on the internet for "bald head remedies"

Each remedy's a food or drink, some wacky, wild and weird; Soon he begins to rub them where his hair has disappeared.

He starts out by spreading salsa onto every hairless spot; He knows he can't be careless, it's the only chance he's got
When he glances in his mirror the next morning after bed; He searches for some hair, but a sombrero's there instead.

Well, Santa looks discouraged, but he doesn't feel defeat; He cooks up a new remedy and says, "Bon appetit!"
Across his bald head everywhere, he spreads a cheese souffle; But on those spaces he wants hair, now sits a French beret.

Santa's never one to worry, so he sets a faster pace; In a hurry he makes curry and he plasters it in place
Now his goal is getting clearer, he's much nearer with each try; But one look into the mirror shows a turban two feet high!

Next, he rustles up some barbeque and spreads it with a smile; He thinks, "This'll do the trick, I'm gonna grow hair Texas-style!"

He's sure he's found a cure from all those remedies he's read; Till he sees a giant Stetson ridin' high up on his head.

As he smashes up and pours on a puree' of squash and peas; Santa hangs out and prepares to shout "hooray!" at what he sees.

When he gives his head a tough-guy stare and dares his hair to grow; The cutest baby bonnet's there, all tied up with a bow.

Well, this gent they call Saint Nicholas is quite a sight to see; His results have been ree-dickle-us with each new recipe;

In time, his tale will tickle us-- he doesn't have a doubt; But today he's got to find a way to get some hair to sprout.

He can't resist those remedies, but the list goes on and on; So, he certifies this date "The Great Hair-Growing Marathon";

He gives it all he's got while mixin' fixins one by one; Whether he grows hair or not, it seems like Santa's having fun.

He cooks up his cuisine, he's got a hungry head to feed; He looks like a machine with every move at lightning speed;

For show, he throws on flour and dough, he's like an acrobat; But instead of hair, what sits up there's a great, big baker's hat.

Then he squishes up and dishes up a hot dog on a bun; But an oldtime baseball cap appears the minute that he's done;

He thinks that rum might grow some hair, so he rubs on more and more; Then a pirate hat is sitting there, like Long John Silver wore.

When Santa serves up Irish stew and sprinkles shamrocks on; There's a green hat with a buckle, he's a lucky leprechaun;

Then he tosses on some mystery sauce, across his head it roams; When a cool detective's hat appears, he looks like Sherlock Holmes.

After mashing up a cup of maize to help his hairless cause; He wears an Indian headdress and becomes Chief Santa Claus.

Then all those crazy cures start tickling Santa's funny bone; He thinks about a hundred other hats that he might own!

There's Merlin the Magician's from those great King Arthur books; Those floppy hats for fishin', crammed with tackle, bait and hooks.

Those Viking hats from days of yore with horns designed to shock; Those funny hats the Pilgrims wore when they hit Plymouth Rock.

Next, a quirky fez from Turkey with its tassle dangling down; From an ancient English castle he could have a kingly crown.
Now, his bald head doesn't bother him at all, imagine that; Up there, instead of hair, he'd rather wear another hat!

So many hats--a helmet, a fedora or a tam; He's balder than an eagle, but he's happy as a clam
In just awhile, he'll have a pile of styles he's never seen; He's turned his hairless head into a hat-making machine.

So, Santa's head keeps working till the sun begins to rise; He knew it had some skill, but still he can't believe his eyes;
His hat-making machine went wild, there's not one space to spare; A thousand different hats are piled in places everywhere.

Santa finally finds a way that his bald head has passed the test; It worked so hard and fast, now it deserves a little rest;

He wanted something up there, but much more than hair has grown; The biggest hat collection that this world has even known!