Watch out where the huskies go

~ Patrick O'Grady
And don't you eat that yellow snow.
And don't you eat that yellow snow.

Dreamed I was an Eskimo

Frozen wind began to blow

Under my boots ‘n’ around my toe

Frost had bit the ground below

Was a hundred degrees below zero

And my momma cried: Boo-a-hoo hoo-ooo.

Well, OK, it’s not a hundred below. I’m not an Eskimo. And my momma’s dead. But it is chilly, and the white stuff is coming down, and by morning I’ll bet you a pancake breakfast at St. Alphonzo’s that the deadly yellow snow will be lying about the joint in abundance come morning.