Poisoning Pigeons in the Park

Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here. Life is skittles and life is beer. I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring. I do, don't you? 'Course you do. But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me, And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune On a spring afternoon, When we're poisoning pigeons in the park. Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me, As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide, But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide. The sun's shining bright, Everything seems all right, When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We've gained notoriety, And caused much anxiety In the Audubon Society With our games. They call it impiety And lack of propriety, And quite a variety Of unpleasant names. But it's not against any religion To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free, Why don't you come with me, And we'll poison the pigeons in the park. And maybe we'll do In a squirrel* or two, While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment, Except for the few we take home to experiment. My pulse will be quickenin' With each drop of strych'nine We feed to a pigeon. (It just takes a smidgin!) To poison a pigeon in the park.