Saturday at the Barber's Chair

Lyrics

The striped pole spins its slow hello on a quiet Saturday,
The radio is humming something old and far away.
Old Mr. Dunmore flips the cape and shakes it with a flair,
And says, sit down, my friend, there's time, and plenty of it, here.

Oh, it's Saturday at the barber's chair, the whole town drops its guard,
The snip and the sweep and the stories keep, and nobody's working hard.
We talk about the weather, and the football, and the rain,
And we leave a little lighter than we came in, once again.

The boy beside me's getting his first real haircut, proud,
His mother's got the camera and she's smiling, not too loud.
The barber taps his shoulder and says, there, you're looking sharp,
And the boy sits up a little taller, like he's playing a part.

Oh, it's Saturday at the barber's chair, the whole town drops its guard,
The snip and the sweep and the stories keep, and nobody's working hard.
We talk about the weather, and the football, and the rain,
And we leave a little lighter than we came in, once again.

Forty years of mirrors, and the same old kettle's steam,
He's heard a thousand secrets and he's kept them, it would seem.
He sweeps the floor of yesterday into a tidy heap,
And he lets us all start over with a clean and gentle sweep.

Oh, it's Saturday at the barber's chair, the whole town drops its guard,
The snip and the sweep and the stories keep, and nobody's working hard.
We talk about the weather, and the football, and the rain,
And we leave a little lighter than we came in, once again.

Spin the pole, turn the light,
Same old shop, a good old sight.
Warm hands, kind words, and a mirror clean,
Best small corner I've ever seen.