I'm mister white Christmas
I'm mister snow
I'm mister icicle
I'm mister ten below
Friends call me Snow Miser,
Whatever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch
I'm too much!
He's mister white Christmas
He's mister snow
He's mister icicle
He's mister ten below
Friends call me Snow Miser,
Whatever I touch
Turns to snow in my clutch
(he's too much)
I never want to know a day
That's over fourty degrees
I'd rather have it thirty,
Twenty, Five and minus three
I like it freeeeezing cold
(. . .)
I'm mister green Christmas
I'm mister sun
I'm mister heat blister
I'm mister hundred and one
They call me heat miser
What ever I touch,
Starts to melt in my clutch
I'm too much
He's mister green Christmas
He's mister sun
He's mister heat blister
He's mister hundred and one
They call me heat miser
What ever I touch,
Strarts to melt in my clutch
He's too much!
I never want to know a day
That's under sixty degrees
I'd rather have it eighty,
Ninety,
One hundred degrees!
(spoken)
Oh some like it hot,
But I like it
REALLY REALLY hot!
(It should be cold at Christmas
Not the sun)
(. . .)

INVIA LE CORREZIONI