Along ta derry ga de hance
‘til dawn we sit, amid, astance.
And once the full moon rises on’t
Da mid awhorl doth all we want.
But soon ta blacken brot a gri,
wit stil da crackon akabree--
And once t’gin ta ram da moot
Dow noland farce th’ wil ka soot!
A packa shoon curl tabard sheath
And when we drather forka beeth,
Is wan ‘taback the cabbarth shoe
Around about will strike the moon.
The will soon eddy wine dak crown,
To ramble on the turtle drown.
We pounce upon the blackened brot
‘twas crackon gole th’ trei be shot!
There once was a man named Roland,
Mr Noland went off to Poland,
He lost all his stuff
And that was enough,
Let's feel bad for Roland Noland.
I wish I had just one more day,
to say the things I wish to say.
To walk along behind your wheelchair;
How you could out run me just wasn’t fair.
Have our morning coffee; sit and chat,
once again call you an old senile bat.
Millie, I always admired your will to fight.
Talking with you made everything all right.
Funny how nature’s rules centrist and bend;
Millie you were much more than my friend.
You were the mother I so long ago lost,
you taught me how to face and pay life’s cost.
You were always there to lend me an ear;
offer advice, which I shall hold forever dear.
I will miss your voice; raspy from the smokes,
you were one of a kind who loved to tell jokes.
We found my family and we found your son;
two wonderful things, which we got done.
Millie you may have passed but this is no lie,
up inside of my heart you could never die.
The message behind all of these tears I cry;
I will see you later, I will never say goodbye.