The things I used to like, I don't like any more I want a lot of other things, I've never had before It's just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing, I'm adored I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string I'd say that I had spring fever But I know it isn't spring I'm as starry eyed and gravely discontented Like a nightingale without a song to sing Oh, why should I have spring fever When it isn't even spring? I keep wishing I were somewhere else Walking down a strange new street Hearing words that I have never never heard From a man, I've yet to meet I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud Or a Robin or a bluebird on the wing But I feel so gay in a melancholy way That it might as well be spring It might as well be, might as well be It might as well be spring
The things I used to like, I don't like any more I want a lot of other things, I've never had before It's just like my mamma says, I sit around and mourn Pretending that I am so wonderful and knowing, I'm adored I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string I'd say that I had spring fever But I know it isn't spring I'm as starry eyed and gravely discontented Like a nightingale without a song to sing Oh, why should I have spring fever When it isn't even spring? I keep wishing I were somewhere else Walking down a strange new street Hearing words that I have never never heard From a man, I've yet to meet I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud Or a Robin or a bluebird on the wing But I feel so gay in a melancholy way That it might as well be spring It might as well be, might as well be It might as well be spring
