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 ev'ry Sunday a treat for me.



All the world seems in tune

On a spring afternoon,

When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

Ev'ry 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,

Ev'rything 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.