Sing About Beards

She never heard of Beard Palmer, but my mother used to sing this song to me:

My Pappy’s Whiskers

I have a dear old Pappy
For whom I nightly pray
He’s got a set of whiskers
They’re always in the way

Chorus: Oh, they’re always in the way
The cows eat them for hay
They hide the dirt on Pappy’s shirt
They’re always in the way

And when we want our breakfast
But there’s nothing here to eat
We chew on Pappy’s whiskers
‘Cuz they’re just like shredded wheat


Our Pappy went out walking
The wind was blowing hard
It blew his whiskers cross the street
Into the neighbor’s yard


Our Pappy fought in Flanders
He wasn’t killed you see
His whiskers looked like bushes
And he fooled the enemy


And when the bill collector
Arrives to get his fee
Pap wraps that beard around himself
And imitates a tree


And when my little sister
Has nothing else to do
She sits on Pappy’s whiskers
To watch the old man chew.


When Pappy’s playing baseball
And lands on second base
The wind blows Pappy’s whiskers
Back into the catcher’s face.


My Pappy went out sailing
And the wind took down the mast
He held his whiskers in the air
And the boat went twice as fast



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