I was sitting watching the TV, when i heard my youngest say
have you looked in the mirror Dad! by God your getting grey!
your starting to look old Dad 'I was under attack'
I've just put a rinse through my hair, do you fancy going black?

no! thats quite alright son, i wear my grey hair with pride
Then he put his hand upon on my head, that was when i sighed
his hand was sheathed in a rubber glove, it was soaked in dye
so sorry! look what I've done! sorry i have to fly!

I looked into the mirror, horrified was i
he'd covered half my head, in the blackest dye
theres only one thing for it! i had to do the rest
for me moustache and me eyebrows i did a little test

i used the tip of an ear bud and gently stroked each hair
it seemed to take forever, by then i didn't care
next morning my reflection I'd put on such a glow
i shook my head and stated 'i look like a Gigolo'

my workmates weren't so kind! John didn't understand
for him my feelings didn't count, this was the promised land!
the ribbing that he gave me, it was handed on a plate
and everyone we met that day, the story he'd relate

ave yer seen my mate 'the Gigolo' a big smile across his face
what a bloody wally he looks, John has no tact or taste!
well he spun it out as long as he could, forever comes to mind!
Sadly! humiliations cup was all he left behind!

Bob Gibson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-touch-of-colour/