You naughty, naughty cloud-burst,
How you snuck up on me!
You got me wet, and now I bet
You think it’s so fun-ee!

My lover is a poet
And he will make a rhyme
To show—and all will know it—
That you are just a crime!

Oh, criminal, you cloud-burst,
Now you must go to jail,
Away to sea, in misery,
To pour to no avail.

There’s no one there to rain on,
And all the waves will laugh
To see you pour for nothing,
And not give them a cough!

Ha Ha! They will be shouting,
While you are gloomy gray;
Hee Hee! There is no doubting
That crime just doesn’t pay!