Rising high like a psychedelic mushroom cloud
so loud without a sound
Holy Jesus, did you see Phil Spector’s hair?

Big like Canada
Big like the sun
Big like an idea whose time has come

Phil Spector’s hair is like a Zen koan
Through which the wind doesn’t whistle, it moans
It’s so big it’s small
It’s so short it’s tall
Fuck it man, I lost my Frisbee in there

Phil Spector’s hair’s got more air
Than Neptune’s atmosphere

Phil Spector’s hair is like the end of the world
Blotting out the sun
Like a hot air balloon from hell
What’s that smell?
I can’t get nothing on my cell

Dammit, Phil.

I imagine a whole colony of weebles living in there
in the city of Phil Spector’s Hair
Or the Whos that Horton heard
And rare, endangered species of bird

Goddamn, Sam
I think a barber from another dimension
Had a hand in those extensions

“Hey look, I’m on the TV!”
No shit dude, you ARE the TV
Now move a little to the left
So I can get TBS

I can hear the empty cans of hair spray rattle when he walks
That thing lists like a satellite when he talks
There’s a gaping hole in the ozone over that hair constellation

That shit’s giving me nightmares like Ringu
And that’s another annoying thing, too
That hair’s in my peripheral vision 24/7
And at a quarter to eleven
I can still see a quarter of Phil’s hair in the sky
As it sets in the West and in the East
It rises like yeast
It’s the key to Middle East Peace
And it soothes the savage beast

But dammit, man
How come I always get seated behind Phil Spector
at the goddamned movies?