A cautionary tale: Don't Mess With Your Mother

There was a boy whose name was Chris
I'd like you to remember this:
That from the very earliest age
He used to fly into a rage
When his poor mother combed his hair
He used to shout: "You'll make it bare!"
His mother laughed, and said: "I won't -
Just look at how much hair you've got.
It's thick and bushy through and through.
The wind has tangled it, so you
Must keep it tidy, as you know
Because Mr Morris likes it so."
(Mr Morris was Chris's teacher
Who knew that hair is a boy's best feature
And should be washed and combed at least
Lest a boy be taken for a beast.
And as you are quite well aware
A chap must take good care of hair.)
So Chris's mother pulled and tugged.
Chris wept and screamed, yet still she lugged
The comb right through his luscious curls
As beautiful as any girl's.
Chris had enough: and with a shout
He grabbed the comb and tore it out
His mother's hand, but with it came
A chunk of his amazing mane.
She snatched it back, but with a yank
He grabbed again: this time a hank
of long black hair stuck to the comb
And war began in Chris's home.
So tit for tat they grabbed and pulled
until at last there came a lull
in the hostilities: peace reigned.
Chris and his mother stared, amazed
At Chris' head. There was no hair
To be seen still growing there.
They were both indeed appalled
To see that he was almost bald.
So let this be a careful warning:
Don't fight your mother in the morning!