If the weatherman’s a human cuss,
I expect he’d like to shoot us–
When it was “dry” we crabbed–we wanted beer,
Now it’s here, it’s too “wet” to suit us.
When it was dry we crabbed & howled,
And stormed & griped & cussed & scowle’d;
But now it’s wet & beer is here,
We’re sore ’cause it’s rained every day this year.
by Ray Romine Saturday, April 1, 1933
