| Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
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| Life is skittles and life is beer.
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| I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
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| I do, don’t you? |
| Course you do.
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| But there’s one thing that makes spring complete for me,
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| And makes ev’ry Sunday a treat for me.
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| All the world seems in tune
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| On a spring afternoon,
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| When we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.
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| Ev’ry Sunday you’ll see
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| My sweetheart and me,
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| As we poison the pigeons in the park.
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| When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
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| But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
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| The sun’s shining bright,
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| Ev’rything seems all right,
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| When we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.
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| We’ve gained notoriety,
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| And caused much anxiety
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| In the Audubon Society
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| With our games.
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| They call it impiety,
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| And lack of propriety,
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| And quite a variety
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| Of unpleasant names.
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| But it’s not against any religion
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| To want to dispose of a pigeon.
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| So if Sunday you’re free,
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| Why don’t you come with me,
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| And we’ll poison the pigeons in the park.
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| And maybe we’ll do In a squirrel or two,
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| While we’re poisoning pigeons in the park.
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| We’ll murder them all amid laughter and merriment.
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| Except for the few we take home to experiment.
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| My pulse will be quickenin'
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| With each drop of strych’nine
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| We feed to a pigeon.
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| (It just takes a smidgin!)
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| To poison a pigeon in the park. |