It is your birthday Holmes.
Now you're fifty-nine.
Just think of all those cases,
Just think of all that wine!
But when you come to rest your head,
and dinner is postponed
Take care for I still have not fed
And will let up a groan-
"Oh Holmes, Oh Holmes, you sleepy-head,
Wake up now or I'll hit you!
Your pipe is drooping from your mouth
And a bumblebee just bit you!
Come now, let us eat and talk
of life, of crime, of art, of music!
Not sit there with your head a-loll,
You've got a brain, please use it!"
"Watson," says Holmes, stirring fast,
In mortal fear of injure,
[He knows from lunchtimes often past
how quick I can turn ninja]
"I have this morn been working hard
to make my honey sweeter.
But now you beat me with a spoon,
why can't you be discreeter?!
Now all I ask is peace and quiet,
For this, my birthday rest
A man is more than his hosting parts
Especially when he's pissed!"