When the weather is hot,
And the sun's beating down,
Then I'd rather be not
In my office in town.
Mid the heat and the murk
Of a hot summer's day
I prefer not to work,
For I'd much rather play.
When the mercury climbs up to ninety degrees,
With a pipe and a book I would loaf at my ease.

But when winter comes round,
And the air's crisp and clear,
And there's snow on the ground,
And the wind nips your ear,
Then I long for the clime
Of the tropical Turk.
That's the season when I'm
Quite unfitted for work.
For the winter's the time when I run true to form
And I sigh for a place that is restful and warm.