My father's version of this song he sang (b.1927)
Oh when I woke up this morning, I looked upon the wall, the bedbugs and the roaches, were having their game of ball. The score was nine to nothin, the roaches were ahead, a bedbug knocked a homer, and knocked me out a bed. Oh when I went down to breakfast,the bread was hard and stale. The coffee taste like tobacco juice, right out of county jail. Indian rubber beef steak, the disconnected cheese, a weenie turned a flip-flop and landed in my peas.
Oh it ain't gonna rain, ain't gonna rain, ain't gonna rain no more. How in the heck can I wash my neck, if it ain't gonna rain no more.