What’s My Wig

If I were to ever sport a wig I'd want a huge shock of Einstein's e=mc 2 hair. Or maybe a wig that's a luscious rush of LA sunsets; one so bright it camouflages with my baby's smile. A wig that's an equal opportunity accepter of other wigs. A new and improved self-driving wig. One that can walk on water, should I ever find myself going under. Don't want no terrorist or bomb-scare hair, no swastika or white sheet for a wig. Don't wanna be weighed down by all that hate. I want a wig jampacked with plenty of James Brown get-down. Insatiable and sensational. Full of Jheri curls, not gerrymandering. A wig filled with dreaming and believing, bopping and popping, full out rockin' atop my noggin.

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