"Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough, One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough." And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark, That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.” – A. B. Paterson
No need for fear when razor’s straight, that poem’s meant for humour, mate. In safe hands you’ll find our razors sage, these ones are French and all the rage. A bit of practice, ‘at’s all you need, a nick or scratch, yeah sure, you’ll bleed. But in no time we’re sure you’ll find, a great new skill that you’ve refined – you’re twice the man you had in mind, just less the half that’s left behind.