Each winter's warmer than the last.
The season's getting kind of short.
And though I'm good at skiing fast
I wish I'd picked a different sport.
Snow storms are turning into showers.
Showers turn the snow to mush.
And every day I practice hours,
Out skiing in a sea of slush.
The pelting rain is soaking in
And I'm still here, I don't know why.
It’s cold and wet, I can't begin
To picture being warm and dry.
Who needs the snow? I'll water ski.
I ought to try it anyhow.
And if I do I bet I'll be
Much dryer than I am right now.