“Hakuna Matata” Lyrics from the “Lion King”

“Hakuna Matata” lyrics

  • Timon (T)
  • Pumbaa P)
  • Both
  • Simba (S)


Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase (T)

Hakuna Matata! Ain't no passing craze  (P)

It means no worries for the rest of your days (T)

It's our problem-free philosophy (T)

Hakuna Matata! (P)

Hakuna Matata? (S)

Yeah. It's our motto!

What's a motto?   (S)

Nothing. What's a-motto with you?

Those two words will solve all your problems (P)

That's right. Take Pumbaa here    (T)
Why, when he was a young warthog...

When I was a young wart hog (P)

Very nice (T)

Thanks (P)

He found his aroma lacked a certain appeal  (T)
He could clear the savannah after every meal (T)

I'm a sensitive soul though I seem thick-skinned
And it hurt that my friends never stood downwind
And oh, the shame		He was ashamed
Thought of changin' my name	What's in a name?
And I got downhearted		How did ya feel?
Everytime that I... (P)

Hey! Pumbaa! Not in front of the kids! (T)
Oh. Sorry (P)

Hakuna Matata! What a wonderful phrase
Hakuna Matata! Ain't no passing craze

It means no worries for the rest of your days

It's our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata!
Hakuna Matata! Hakuna matata!
Hakuna Matata! Hakuna matata!
Hakuna Matata! Hakuna matata!
Hakuna Matata! Hakuna--

It means no worries for the rest of your days

It's our problem-free philosophy
Hakuna Matata!
(Repeats)

I say "Hakuna"

I say "Matata"


Music by Elton John, lyrics by Tim Rice
Performed by Max Casella, Tom Allan Robbins, Scott Irby-Ranniar, and Jason Raize

Summer Sun – Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

Summer Sun – Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven with repose;

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull

To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two

To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad

He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;

And through the broken edge of tiles

Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around

He bares to all the garden ground,

And sheds a warm and glittering look

Among the ivy’s inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,

Round the bright air with footing true,

To please the child, to paint the rose,

The gardener of the World, he goes.

Robert Louis Stevenson