Happy Birthday, Mr. Burns

For Robert

O, you told us o' the red, red rose
And sang in praise o' haggis.
In quiet Ayrshire countryside,
You raised up quite a rackus.

And fair you wrote, in bonnie burr,
And fair you wrote, my baird.
We must gae thanks for your sweet pen
As we kneel to pray the Laird.

Till a’ ink wells gang dry, Dear Rob,
And a’ the nibs lie rusty,
We will luve thee still, Dear Rob,
And quote your words, sae lusty.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
On this January night?
Nae, we’ll sing o' thee again, Dear Rob,
And o' Barleycorn tonight.

- Ralph Murre