I've got a thousand skeeter bites
And when I go to bed these nights
They form an organized attack
To itch from head to toe and back;
They itch and itch and itch so bad,
I itch and scratch and scritch like mad,
And just before I go delirious,
I know I must do something serious.
And so I wake that gal o' mine
To fetch for me the calamine,
That pinkish, magical elixir,
She pours it forth, a wondrous medicine,
The balm to ease the state my head is in.
I slather it upon my hide
Till truly I'm de-itch-ified.
But when we've said goodnight and
I find there's one I somehow missed
That suddenly sneaks up behind me
Not so gently to remind me
That Yellow Fever's erstwhile carrier
Had been to dine upon my derriere.
Which proves that West Nile's humming friend
Will always get you in the end.