My family respected virtue.
They brought me up well.
I wouldn't intend to hurt you,
But, now, who can tell?
Susceptible to the season,
Daffy in the spring,
Charmed without reason,
Darling, I'm apt to do
Any crazy thing...

The trouble is Spring.
Any other time, I'm sensible and sane,
But not in the Spring,
Then you'll find me running round and raising Cain.

Spring weaves a spell; let's say it's moonlight---
I'm addicted to the moon---
Addle-pated, pixilated,
In April, May and June.

The trouble is Spring.
When the nights get sort of balmy, so do I!
The weather says 'Spring',
And that look is in my eye.

Run from me, dear,
This is the kind of love that withers with the frost.
The trouble is Spring...
I'm in love and I am lost.

Music and Lyrics copyright 1954-1979-1992-1998 by Louise Jackson Doyle

Play "The Trouble Is Spring"

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