It ain't a whole lot. Yet.

Not the right kind of biscuits
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A pan of pretty biscuits, just waiting for me,
to shovel all the snow from underneath the tree;
the tree is large and mighty, with a large spread.
Shovel all of this?  To earn my daily bread?

You see, now, what this storm means in all our lives,
a chance to shovel 'til hearts content, and get some cold hives.
Fun for all the way I see it.  It's money in the bank.
But I don't understand at all, and that's being frank.

Useless work on useless stuff, unless you ski a lot;
hey, it's them ski guys, I think I see a plot.
Ski guys, they wear those masks when they rob the banks;
catch them, catch them all and give them 30 spanks.

DISCLAIMER:  This is a work of fiction (as if you didn't know).  It is not intended to cast
blame on ski guys.

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