There are those might I propose
For which the wearing of a hat
Becomes second nature
It is undeniably a feature of their character
That they are decidedly able
To wear their hats with style

Whilst equally so there are those
Who shouldn't be allowed within a mile
Of the well cut number Hamberg or tumbler
In deed those who ought not stand
Beneath a hat ever again

Loathe to tell you when
But one thing I hold true if thou
Choose to wear one at all 
Make it a statement  about you
For isnt a hat meant to speak of cool?
And not a fool stood beneath its brim
Certainly no whim of my imagination

For who with little consternation
Could not agree that what you see
Beneath a hat is the real woman or man
Who cannot admire the rakish desire
Projected in the wide Planter's straw
Of Rhett Butler,

Set to the side over one eye  
My oh my Miss scarlett
Now he really knows how you look
Without your chemise 
Designed to please
And ladies release me from the notion
That Humphrey Bogart wont tease
In Sam Spades Fedora 
Looking for the falcon in Maltese disguise

And what man could fail to set fast his sail 
For the swedish beauty Ingrid whatever she did
To enchant you, Just simply knew how
To wear that slouch upon the couch In Casablanca
And in case you hanker for more formal look
Anita O' Day knew a jazz singers way to wear a hat

Jauntily cocked over one eye
She didnt even have to try
To look sophisitcated
Whilst take a stroll through any rollcall
Of proffesional fool who as a rule
Will wear the hat on the back of the head 

Just where it shouldnt be
For didnt you see the likes of he
Stan Laurel and Ollie Hardy
Improved the fun imagined in turn
By wearing a bowler much too small
For their head. A trick so slick
To improve the image of a clown

And neither should a hat be
Too small or large and if tailor-ed
It should fit the head just perfectly
treat the wearing with love
For I am reminded of
The following joke

About a bloke in a car 
stopped by a far
Too officious cop
Who having seen the driver
Was wearing a big Cavaliers hat
Came out pat with 

Who the hell do you think you are
I am Captain Kidd  the pirate ha! ha!
So where the hell are your Buccan-eers
Tell me that rat a tat tat!
You must be blind my official fiend
Cant you see
Deary me
They are under me 'Buccin-hat'