I have this lock of hair that keeps falling across my forehead. It drives me mad.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
The more I mistreat my hair, the stronger it grows back. I think it must be determined to survive.
It's not the hair on your head that matters. It's the kind of hair you have inside.
I'm constantly trying to find new ways to get my hair out of my face.
My hair has become part of my identity; it's almost an appendage to me.
My hair is such a statement that it's like a neon sign asking for trouble.
Even when I was a kid, I had this insane head of flaming hair. It looked like a wig.
Sometimes I take off my skully and wear glasses, so I've gotta brush and make sure my hairline is straight.
I've been burn when it comes to my hair that it ain't no joke.
I do like my hair being pulled from time to time, it's like a pair of reins, innit?
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck at certain music.