Those who preach of the upcoming doom
make assumptions, which means they assume
that the icebergs’s demise
will get oceans to rise
which will make a big watery tomb.
Said the Polarbear, there is no meat
I have nothing but offspring to eat.
Then he adds with a wink
there’s no ice in my drink
and my underarms stink in this heat.
The consensus in seventy-three
was that simply there had to be
a new age filled with ice
and it was their advice
to make friends with a neighbourhood tree.
How can man keep his wit and be jolly
in the face of this flabberghast folly
did you hear that Al Gore
has renamed Arctic Shore
into Green Bay of Melancholy?
Now we know that our leaders aren’t smart,
though they count and record every fart
from a bovine derriere
as it mixes with air
then they scribble results in the chart.
It is sad, even sadder indeed
that most folks swallow whole what they read,
which, to no one’s surprise
will ferment and then rise
be expelled as a crap gas at speed.
Though this causes a huge global stench
sewer gas if you’ll pardon my French,
so you know that the cause
of draconian laws
will be handed to us from the bench.
There is much in the way of big dough
to be made by the con and the pro,
While the arrogance blooms
in the chilly boardrooms
they all chuckle and think we don’t know.
Climate changes are not pathogenic,
we ought never to spend a small Pfennig,
it’s the work of the sun
we must live with the pun
winds of change are not anthropogenic.
And in closing, the world may yet cool
thus increasing the chance that each mule
may eat more to stay warm
and to weather a storm
and to fart with abandon, you fool!
