Out here in California
The natives all will warn ya,
Our seasons blend together,
To make our west coast weather.
Though spring still precedes summer,
Our floods could thwart a plumber.
In summer we go drought-y.
Of this there's little doubt-y.
In autumn our brush fires
Thwart firemen with pyres.
To soothe our Santa Anas,
We offer up hosannas.
Our quakes just make us flail
Upon the Richter scale.
But still, with all the shaking,
We're quite light on leaf-raking.