a carnal hungry chilly breeze
blows down the lane do what it please
cold fingers creepy up my blouse
and down my panties behind the house
trump my ta-tas he grope my dinkies
lickity split up and down my pinkies
I say weatherman! make it stop!
he say what girl, I ain’t no cop
I ask him isn’t it your duty?
he say “girl don’t you shake no booty
arctic harveys will blow on down
to pinch your cheeks and run your town”
I called that boy a punk and left
to find my sisters, all bereft
we got together and called the news
fuck you, weather: go sing the blues