Out of the rain and into the den

Out in the fields there are puddles about,

as mothers calls us to come out of the rain and into the den.

We ran from the rocks and under the trees,

We could barely see pride rock,

Standing on a rock did we see our way home.

Our mothers calling us once more to get out of the rain and into the den.

We walk inside, wet and cold.

Our mother's wash us and keep us warm.

We were Out of the rain and in the den.