Bumble Artie had a party

On his birthday number nine

Which isn't bad--in fact, it's fine

Except he asked nine swine to come at (?) for birthday cake and wine.



Except his mom, Sweet Adeline

Who went to work at nine past nine

Just hated swine to drink her wine

(?)

So--he simply didn't tell her



At nine past nine, the pigs and swine broke down the door

And gobbled cake and oinked nine grunts

And pulled nine kinds of dirty stunts!



(The pigs throw dishes around, dance on the table, and draw pictures on the wall.)



The house looked like a stinking sty,

And Bumble Artie had to cry

When all nine swine cried, "Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!

May Bumble live nine hundred years!"



Which isn't bad.

In fact, it's fine

Except, just then, Sweet Adeline,

Who finished work at (half?) past nine

And hurried home so she could dine

With Bumble on his birthday nine

And found, instead, nine squealing swine,

Began to shriek and shake and whine:



"I'll give you pigs 'til number nine to split!

Get lost! Vamoose! Just scram, or else I'll slice you into ham!"



(She holds up nine fingers, one at a time. As she hold up each one, a pig rushes out and slams the door.)



Nine times the door slammed.



(Door slams once more.)



Then again.

"How odd," thought Adeline; "it's ten."

And then a voice cried, meek and humble,

"Please let me in. It's your boy, Bumble."



So Adeline, that mom divine

Took in her Bumble valentine

And kissed him nine times over nine

Which isn't bad . . .

In fact, it's fine