The Hair of Ellen Carter Dandelion Back to: Some So-Called Music

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The Hair of Ellen Carter

I love the song “The Mary Ellen Carter”—really. Why did this happen to it?
Deepest apologies to Stan Rogers.


She was blonde last October and she’s back to blonde again.
From then to now she’d worn most any color you could name.
Each day come three o’clock, with a simple comb and blow,
The hair of Ellen Carter seemed to glow.
There were five of us adored her, in that year I was a Frosh.
We’d walk through hell to follow her through tint, and trim, and wash.
And the moan she gave when roots turned brown, we swore an oath profane
We’d see the hair of Ellen Carter dyed again.

Well, her daddy gave a scoff when he heard how much she spent.
He gave plenty for tuition, books, for groceries, and rent.
But as for hair care costs, as well as for her phone,
He just shook his head and said, “You’re on your own.”
But we partied through that winter, on weekends ‘round the clock.
It seemed she had a million boys, all swooning at her locks.
We rode a car from bar to bar, and thus we spread the fame
Of the hair of Ellen Carter, dyed again.

Dyed again, dyed again,
That her mane might be tossed, provoking sighs of men.
Those who love her tresses won’t mind the stray split end
In the hair that Ellen Carter dyes again.

This spring term we’ve cruised with her in a Dodge lent by a friend.
Three dives a night in hot pursuit of vice on most weekends.
Thank God a perm’s just sixty bucks; my stylist’s rates are low
Or I’d never have that kind of dough to blow...
We’ve gladly spent our next month’s rent, chugged ales and porters down
At tables where we swore and laughed at every bar in town.
Come Monday, noon, we’ll wake with hair as frazzled as our brains,
And alcohol still coursin’ through our veins.

No, we couldn’t leave her hair to be a faded, mousy brown,
Or tangled up in her comb’s tines—she’d never live that down.
And the laughing, drunken frats with whom we’d partied at that rave,
They’ll laugh themselves right to an early grave...
And you, to whom humidity has made your curls hang low,
With guileless Seniors lookin’ past you, like you didn’t show
Turn blue, or green, or any other color you may deign.
You’ll have hair like Ellen Carter; dyed again.

Dyed again, dyed again,
That her mane might be tossed, provoking sighs of men.
Those who love her tresses won’t mind the stray split end
In the hair that Ellen Carter dyes again.

Dyed again, dyed again!
Once you start—so it’s spoken—you’ll never want to end.
You’ll pay most any cost, be it your grades, your room, your friends,
To have hair like Ellen Carter; dyed again.

Lyrics: Copyright 2008, Rich Brown (rmf51@FreeMars.org )
Thanks to Joe Kesselman for some suggestions to clean bits up.

Creative Commons License My filks are licensed under the Creative Commons attribution, non-commercial, share-alike License. If you use my stuff I would appreciate hearing about it.



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Last rev: January 18, 2011 at 04:53 PM (a Tuesday)