I put on a sweatshirt,
Put on some pants,
Summer is coming,
And I don’t stand a chance.
I go downstairs knowing,
That outside it ain’t snowing,
It’s eighty degrees,
But I’ve got people to please.
I open the door,
And melt with the heat,
That I knew would be coming,
Since I got up from sleep.
Outside people question,
Why I’d deal with this heat,
They don’t know I have secrets,
Which I sure plan to keep.
Inside again I am free,
Not hidden in layers,
My mother stares at me,
And keeps me in her prayers.
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