Weather
Oh what a shocking excitement
Oh what a terrible bummer
Oh what a frightening indictment
It wasn’t a very warm summer
The soldiers come back in their caskets
The bankers are hoarding their money
But the really bad news? Since you ask it’s
That Britain’s not been very sunny
The barbecues rust in the garage
The hosepipes stay useless and coiled
What else may we do but disparage
The land where our bodies aren’t oiled
In some parts it’s seventeen years
Since this frigid and not-quite-a freeze
It’s a wonder the country endures
When it’s cut down like this to its knees
The forecast is treacherous, awful
The pattern of weather is chequered
The Met Office must have a drawer full
Of bits of each broken old record
The country’s too hot and too cold
It snows and it floods and it bakes
The weather won’t do as it’s told
The forecast is full of mistakes
I’ll just put my hand to my temple
Though frankly it should be a gun
We’re doomed – the country is crem-full
And worse, there’s a shortage of sun
