Put away the little picnic
Till the coming of the spring;
Useless now the swaying hammock
And the idle picnic swing.
Put away the pickled spider
And the cold pressed picnic fly,
And the decorated trousers
With their wealth of custard pie.
Put away the little picnic
Till the coming of the spring;
Useless now the swaying hammock
And the idle picnic swing.
Put away the pickled spider
And the cold pressed picnic fly,
And the decorated trousers
With their wealth of custard pie.