It’s in the spring time in Italy,
You’ll pay a visit to a little bee,
Who’ll speak in bee into your ear,
And you’ll smile at the things you hear.
He’ll chirp in high pitch monotones,
Of which banks i’ve taken loans,
To buy you so many pretty things,
More prettier than diamond rings.
But it’s not until Christmas comes,
That happy breaths will fill your lungs,
And your eyes will dance with joy,
Whilst you lift your arms carrying bundles of toys.
happy new year