February... 'Git.

February... 'Git.
You came in cold.
No sooner though the door
and you dumped a load.
Dressed you up
in bold reds and blacks...
woke up the next morning,
and your Cold was back.
You spat on us daily,
watched us freeze and slip;
Gramma lost a life
when she broke a hip.
So February... 'Git.
You no damn good.
Bring on the lion... we're
fresh out of wood !