We were monarchs on any face
That Nature decided we should grace
Hirsute ode to the manly soul
Of a Malayali Man.
They took pains to see thick we grew
And with coconut oil did they brew
A potion that aided moush motion
As good fertilizer can.
The pride and joy of the male were we
The glorious proof of virility
A very fine pelt to stroke, they felt
The entire length of our span.
The masculine ideal if truth be told
A twirl of a moustachio most bold
The Lalettan signature move, amen!
The mark of a Master Plan.
But now alas! we fear the doom
A break only lately we've dared presume
Despite protests, we're depressed
At hints of an unspoken ban.
Today our ends droop in despair
An unfortunate end to facial hair
The X Generation, globalisation
Needs not a whiskery clan.
Farewell, we cry, and contemplate
The Gillette finish of our fate
Here ends our tale, we will not quail
Meeshas of the Malayali Man!