The pigs have flown, the cows came home,
The rivers have run dry,
The twelfth of never came and went,
The snow fell in July.
The sun rose in the west, my dear,
Above a four-leaf clover,
We’ve passed a month of Sundays now,
And Hell has frozen over.
Now two plus two is seventeen—
Of that, I have no doubt.
And I don’t want to say from where
The monkeys have flown out.
So I don’t mean to hassle you,
But still, for what it’s worth,
You promised you’d go out with me—
The only man on earth.