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

-- by Brad Mcdermott (Jeep owner)