In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,
And the sun comes out and STAYS,
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,
And you think of yer bare-foot days;
When you ORT to work and you want to NOT,
And you and yer wife agrees
It's time to spade up the garden-lot,
When the green gits back in the trees
      Well! work is the least o' MY idees
      When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees
Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please
Old gait they bum roun' in;
When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,
And the crick's riz, and the breeze
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,
And the green gits back in the trees, —
      I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,
      The time when the green gits back in the trees!

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime
Is all pulled out and gone!
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,
And the swet it starts out on
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down
At the old spring on his knees—
When the green gits back in the trees —
      Jest a-potterin' roun' as I-durn-please—
      When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!


This poem is in the public domain.