Way down South there is a tale
About a big, magnificent male.
Stands six foot one; his wit is quick
At two hundred plus, you don't mess with Mick.

He'll down a pitcher in a second flat
Then pull down the brim of his ten gallon hat
He'll thunk his giant boots on the table
He swears like a trooper, so goes the fable.

Now Mick went to London to everyone's amaze
And didn't come back for many many days
Rumors flew about the British and Mick
What would they do with this Texan hick?

When Mick returned it was a surprise to all
To hear his British accent with a Texas drawl
With the English way of life, Mick wasn't really phased
But now he downs his pitchers with his little finger raised.

His friends all gathered from miles around
When Lord Mick Snider, Esquire, rolled back into town.
We raise a toast, Lord Snider, to your esteemed birthday
May you regain your old familiar habits someday!