Your Hair

It's not the hair upon your head,
Although that's dull and thin.
It's the everywhere, disgusting hair
That should be classed as sin.

A little body hair is fine,
It's expected, on a mammal.
But you've a constant winter coat,
You're hairy like a camel.

It covers you from head to toe,
A spiky, see-though rug;
So many hairs are audible--
You rustle when you shrug.

But the worst part's not the sound;
It's the gunk that oft gets caught
In your short-and-curlies, pits and bum,
And right beside your scrot.

If you try to stick my mouth down there,
I think you might get shot.