the boating bard
it's getting hot in here
It's getting hot in here
Like sitting in a furnace
We're both in our under gear
Why did no one warn us?
We've gone one log too many
It's 3000 f'fing degrees
We've got everything wide open
and we can barely breathe
Our spuds are near cremated
We fear we will combust
Hotter than the earth's mantle
Or Mount Vesu-vius
We're worried about our firebricks
Concerned our glass will crack
Our temperature gauge on overdrive
Our stove fan on full whack
You'll probably find us melted
A pool where once we sat
Mines the chair with pants and bra
Not y-fronts and flat cap