Weeding

I was out in the garden today doing what every gardener must do, that simple yet painstakingly tedious job of weeding. It reminded me of two parodies I have written on the subject, but as it was such a long time ago, I could not remember the lyrics. So I have now resurrected them from my archives and am posting one of them here for you enjoyment. I shall post the other at a later date.

This song is dedicated to all faithful gardeners out there who maintain never-ceasing vigilance over their garden beds, squashing all enemies who try to creep in unawares. It is dedicated to all those not so faithful gardeners who remind themselves that losing one battle does not mean the war is lost. (So what if the grass choked out your strawberries? If you persevere the rhubarb may still be saved!) And lastly, this song is dedicated to anyone who has ever stooped to pull a weed in the hot sun. You have my sympathy. I hope this song will console you next time you find yourself battling in the garden.

I Hate Weeding

By Melody Beerbower, spring 2010

To the tune of: Do Your Ears Hang Low (Click here for the tune and original lyrics.)

Oh, I hate weeds,

Cause they choke out all the seeds.

They use up all the soil that your rhubarb needs.

And no matter how hard you tug

In the ground they stay snug.

That’s why I hate weeds.

And weeding’s no fun,

Sitting out there in the sun,

Getting baked like a pancake

Because you cannot run.

It’s dirty and it’s hateful,

And I’m always very grateful

When the weeding’s done. 

But I’ll not complain—

Instead I’ll pray for rain,

Or maybe something better like a hurricane.

It would pull out all the weeds, 

But it might transplant the seeds.

Then I’d have to weed again. 

Maybe if I move along

And forget this little song,

The weeding wouldn’t take half so long,

But it’s way more fun

Sitting out here in the sun 

If you sing a song.

So a song I’ll sing

And weeds through the air I’ll fling

And I’ll wait for the summer to pass like the spring

Cause in winter weeds won’t grow

Instead the snow

Covers everything.

Until then I’ll be weeding,

Or maybe inside eating,

Or perhaps upstairs in my bedroom reading.

I may get sick as well,

You never can tell,

When it comes to weeding.

 (Don't worry. The other weeding song is much better than this one, but you'll have to wait until it's closer to summer to hear it.)