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