Outside, the heat-haze writhes and seethes
In hellish desert air,
The sun paints blackened shadows
On an earth that’s parched and bare…
The aircon in the car is bust
Or else I’d live in there.
It’s summer, and the weather’s turned,
The sun came out to play…
For month’s we’ve moaned of cold and rain
And wished they’d go away;
And now I wish that it would rain
To cool the torrid day.
It’s only twenty-five degrees,
(That’s Celsius, mind you)
Though last week, there was snow and hail,
Now summer skies are blue,
And like a wilted lettuce
I just wish a storm would brew.
But never mind, tomorrow
It will all change once again,
According to the weather man
We’ll probably get rain…
‘Cause this is British weather
And we do love to complain.