You have heard the wail of the siren As an ambulance sped down the street And maybe you've heard the lion's deep roar Down in Africa's grim desert heat.

Or the piercing cry of the tiger At night, as he stalks his prey, Or the locomotive's high shrill whistle As it sped through the night on its way.

But these sounds sink to a whisper - You've heard naught, I assure, till I've told Of the blood-curdling cry of the Kee Bird In the arctic's cruel frigid cold.

The bird looks just like a buzzard- It's large, it's hideous, it's bold. In the night as it circles the North Pole Crying "KEE-KEE-RIST BUT IT'S C-COLD!"

The Eskimos tucked in their igloos Toss Fretfully in their sleep While their huskies asleep in a snow bank Start burrowing away down deep.

For this cry is so awe inspiring It freezes the blood I am told. As the Kee Bird flies in the Arctic Crying, "KEE-KEE-RIST BUT IT'S C-COLD!"

The Mounties, abroad in their dog sleds Visiting these wards of the Crown Often hear this strange cry and state skyward With a fierce and sullen frown.

For odd things happen in the Arctic, And many weird tales they have told But their voices drop to a whisper At the cry "KEE-KEE-RIST BUT IT'S C-COLD!"

And many a brave man on this base site Strong and bold from a Northwest State Are taking the first ship back to homeland To forget this fierce bird's song of hate.

They can take it, it seems, in the daytime But when the midnight hour is tolled They cover their heads in shameless fright At the cry "KEE-KEE-RIST BUT IT'S C-COLD!"

So back to the States they are going To sleep in a real bed as of old To slip their strong arms round their loved one Her fair slender form to enfold.

Then off to sleep in warm comfort And wifey's soft hand they will hold, To wake, terrorized by a Kee And the cry "KEE-KEE-RIST BUT IT'S C-COLD!"

~ Ed J. Pritzinger ~