’Tis concerning the fate of the fancy chignon;
The ladies of Paris are determined ’tis said,
To wear their own hair at the back of their head.
They have given o’er wearing such queer looking lumps
Of nasty old rubbish screw’d up in great bumps,
To cast them adrift they have made up their minds,
To be ugly for ever they don’t feel inclined.
CHORUS.
The Chignons are going we’re happy to hear,
From the young Ladies they must now disappear,