MOW THE GRASS

It’s the time of the year to mow the grass,
Although I’d rather just take a pass,
My mower don’t run,
It’s hot in the sun,
The bugs bite me all over my mass.

Mowing the grass is a mortal sin,
It will just grow right back again,
If my heart has an attack,
I'll never grow back,
So, why not let the long grass win?