March Madness has nothing on,
the lunatic,
crazy March Hare,
basketballs go bouncy-bounce,
my gloves lined with his soft hair.

I have no reason to beware the Ides,
it's just the 15th of the cyclic moon,
bad things happen to tanned hides,
Caesar ignored itŐs coming soon.

When the Saints come Marching in,
you won't find me in that number.
I'll be sitting with a tonic and gin,
watching birds and animals asunder.

March may go out like a lamb,
but I won't be fleeced just yet,
it will be April and Uncle Sam,
to try that trick, I firmly bet.

So, if you're hiding in a former,
March Hare secret rabbit hole.
Please let me get down under,
before that Eagle takes its toll.