I Didn't Write This

It's Christmas in Nebraska,
And the gentle breezes blow,
About seventy miles an hour
And its fifty-two below,
You can tell you're in Nebraska
'Cause the snow's up to your butt.
And you take a breath of Christmas air
And your nostrils both freeze shut.
The weather here is wonderful,
So I guess I'll hang around,
I could never leave Nebraska--
My feet are frozen to the ground!

----Unknown