’Mid worry and bustle, where’er you may roam,
There is nothing can beat the Spring cleaning of home;
There’s a fuss and confusion then reigns in the air,
That, search where you will, is not met with elsewhere.
When Spring cleaning times come,
There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.
Exiled from my room, I must grumble in vain,
For they’re cleaning my lowly thatched cottage again;
Those sweetbirds, the charwomen, chatter and bawl,
’Till I give them a “piece of mind” louder than all.