I wonder if successful men Are always happy?
And do they sing with gusto when Springtime is sappy?
Although I am of snow-white hair And nighly mortal,
Each time I sniff the April air I chortle.
I wonder if a millionaire Jigs with enjoyment,
Having such heaps of time to spare For daft employment.
For as I dance the Highland Fling My glee is muckle,
And doping out new songs to sing I chuckle.
I wonder why so soon forgot Are fame and riches;
Let cottage comfort be my lot With well-worn britches.
As in a pub a poor unknown, Brown ale quaffing,
To think of all I'll never own, I'm laughing.