February, I’m through with you!
I’ve had enough of your bad news,
Winter blues, and worn-out shoes.
I can’t wait until I can march on over
into something that resembles Spring.
I’m ready to have a word
with this Punk named Phil.
They say he’s so tawny,
but my sources say he’s scrawny.
Groundhog, get back into your hole.
It’s time to slow your roll.
I’ve had enough ice and snow.
This slush fund gotta go.
Your latest ratings are fizzing
Out like a light, blow out a candle
I’m gonna guess this
Is more than you can handle.
You’re billed as the prediction to follow.
Too bad your meteorology’s hollow.
Even the movie about your day
Is nothing but a broken record
stuck on play.
If Bill Murray’s willing
to kill all the gophers
Without any reason,
Then you best be looking out
For even the slightest
scent of treason
instead of allowing
this lousy lingering season
to last even so long as
another month and a half.
No tunnels are deep enough to escape dynamite.
Dina might blow her horn,
put a stop to your whole operation,
Your systemized manipulation
of adults who should have better sense
than to give recompense to a furry creature
clueless as to what’s happening
from sapping their long-time gimmick
too silly to fit in a concise limerick
about two pouncing cats,
street scrappers without any clappers
left standing at the end of the day.
February, it is so over.
Go ahead and get gone.
I'm ready to get my spring on!