(Spoken)
Alright, alright. Ooh, I'm looking out the window and it looks like we have a storm coming in. I think we could use a nice, sincere weatherman. Let me see, let me find a song here about a weatherman I could use. Hey, ah, Nash Roberts. That's what it's gonna be.
(Sung)
Every year for hurricane season
Nash is awakened from his hibernation
A happy farm boy from New Orleans
Who waxes copasetic when the whether gets funky
Come on honey, turn on the tube
Let's see what this storms gonna do
Switch the channels on over to 4
See the man who tells the hurricanes where to blow.
Uptown, downtown, the Rigolets
Summer cooks up this tempest of heat
Tape up your windows, stock up on beer
Let's see where Nash is gonna steer
He never bothers for a depression
Off the coast of Africa
Those longitudes are too long away
To ever bother us in the Gulf
He never gives a thought
To a storm in the Atlantic
He's the guy who never has to panic
His eyes are better than the casino's
He tells the hurricanes where to blo-o-ow
All the tricks Nash does on TV
You could pick up at any KB
He never polishes his repartee
Or bludgeons any fancy gadgetry
But who you going to call
When there's a drop of the pressure
And the storm is heading up the river
And your house is next to go,
You listen to the man who's in the kno-o-wow
With his balsa line, he'll pick a spot
Then in red he'll chart the course
Select a time on down to the minute
When exactly, you're gonna feel it
So when a hurricane is eyeing the city
Tickling the delta of the Mississippi
Call the man who put the 4 in forecast
Nash, the man in the know
He's the guy who tells the hurricanes
Where to blow, wow-o-ow-oo, wow-o-o-wooooo-o
Thank you.