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Spring, Spring, Spring
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Bing Crosby
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1
Well now, the barnyard is busy, in a regular tizzy
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And the obvious reason is because of the season
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Ma Nature's lyrical with her yearly miracle
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Spring, spring, spring
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All the henfolk are hatchin', while their menfolk are scratchin'
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To ensure the survival of each brand new arrival
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Each nest is twittering, they're all babysittering
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Spring, spring, spring
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Why, it's a beehive of budding son and daughter life
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Every family has plans in view
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Even down in the brook, the underwater life
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Is forever blowin' bubbles too
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Little skylarks are larking, see them all double-parking
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Cuddled up, playin'possum, they're behind ev'ry blossom
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Even the bubble-ink is merrily wobble-ink
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Spring, spring, spring
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In his hole, though the gopher seems a bit of a loafer
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The industrious beaver puts it down to spring fever
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While there's no antelope who feels that he can't elope
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Spring, spring, spring
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Each cocoon has a tenant, so they hung out a pennant
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Don't disturb please, keep waiting, we're evacuating
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This home's my mama's isle, soon have my own domicile
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Spring, spring, spring
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Even out in Australia, the kangaroos
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Lay off butter fat and all French fries
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If their offspring are large, it might be dan-ga-roos
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Why, they've just got to keep them pocket-size
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Even though, to detract, spring is more like a habit
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Not withstanding, the fact is they indulge in the practice
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Why, each day is Mother's Day the next day some other's day
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Spring, spring, spring
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To itself, each amoeba softly glows [unverfied]
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While the proud little termite fills his life as a worm might
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Old papa dragonfly is makin' his wagon fly
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It's spring, spring, spring
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And from his eerie, the eagle with his eagle eye
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Gazes down across his eagle beak
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And a-fixing his lady with a legal eye
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Screams, "Suppose we set the date this week"
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Ah, yes siree, spring discloses, if it's all one supposes
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Wagging tails, rubbing noses, but it's no bed of roses
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And if for the stork you pine, consider the porcupine
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Who longs to cling keeping comp'ny is tricky, it can get pretty sticky
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In the spring, spring, spring
Bing Crosby - Swinging on a star
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