We get, uh, a lot of requests for, for, uh, comments Generally during interviews and etcetera About, um, uh, about what people should wear And what people should do and how people should carry on Um, we'd like to make one small comment on that Uh, the name of the poem is Wiggy And, um, we'll let the title stand for itself Here's Wiggy Still, Jemima du-head-ragged Her 1920 mind was gagged Undigging how very counterfeit that thing Across her mind did sit Wiggy Gold and blonde, blood-red and blue Sizzled, frizzled, and greasy too Black woman still dig imitation The mother of our horse-hair nation Wiggy Chemicalize your nappy top Comb and brush that store-bought mop Saturday night, you storm the block Paint resembling electric shock Woman, you are a laughing stock Wiggy Baby, we dig fuzzy heads Cotton-soft, not woolward lead Brillo crowns we all adore As long as we are sure It's yours