Hurricane Bill, that ‘twas its name,
It brewed up dark and stormy,
And as he watched the weather charts
It put the wind up Normy.
‘Tie down your kids’ in vain he cried,
But not because of weather,
They were getting on his nerves,
Bikes racing hell for leather.
‘Advise your wives’ he shouted out,
To wear something less floating,
The wind will catch her fair and square,
And flight times we’ll be quoting.’
‘Take down your flags and lower your masts,
Whatever be their colour.
Turn off your fairy lights and lamps,
Sure life will be much duller.’
‘For we must ride this great storm out,
And all come through the weather,
‘Cause when you camp at Lower Treave,
We’re all in it together!’
‘But wait’ cried Norm, ‘the chart is wrong,
This weather’s for another,
This hurricane won’t come to us,
It’s going to Bill’s Mother!’
Hence the saying ‘It’s looking black over Bill’s Mother’s!
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