The
Met boys can't stop crying wolf,
They
feel they must fill us with dread.
Were
weather bad as they predict
We
all should very soon be dead.
“A
horrid storm!” their fearful cry,
“The
danger builds in Norway's sky.”
“Minus
fourteen!” the headline screams,
“It's
forecast we are going to freeze,
The
snow will rise above our heads!”
But
all is not quite as it seems.
When
their pants they've ceased to shit
They
then are likely to admit:
“It
looks like it might snow - a bit.”
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