And finally Winter, with its bitin', and whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

And finally Winter, with its bitin', and whinin' wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.

Time will pass and seasons will come and go.

Hang 'em first, try 'em later.

You can't tell how good a man or a watermelon is 'til they get thumped.

Spring with its wavin' green grass and heaps of sweet-smellin' flowers on every hill and in every dale.

Don't interfere with something that ain't bothering' you none.