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