This is the tale of Hector Cramp
Who tried to join a nudist camp
Unfortunately he was tuft
And if that wasn't bad enough
Bore signs of tuftness everywhere
In fact he was a mass of hair
Hair on his arms, hair on his back
Hair on his legs and hair on his….. er... feet!
in fact there wasn't anywhere
About him that there wasn't hair
And when of clothes he was divested
The head man of the camp suggested
He didn't look a wee bit raw
And looked as well clothed as before
And said, suspicious of a plot,
"We don't know if you're nude or not!"
And called to the head gardener... "Jim,
"Run the lawn mower over him!"
So on the ground they lay poor Cramp
Although the grass was frightfully damp
And the head gardener, nothing loath
Tried to remove poor Hector's growth.
But Hector's hair was tough as wire
And nearly set the mower on fire.
With friction it became red-hot
And the head man, soon upon the spot said,
"Upon my life,...
we'll have to go and fetch a scythe!"
But when with scythe they did appear
Hector was filled with a terrible fear
And said 'No, no, you never shall
I'm not a harvest festival'.