Grandad Behan is 80

Across the earth,
There’s joy and mirth,
Whate’er one’s race or deity.
In every place,
Old foes embrace
And kiss each other on the face.
White and black
Get back on track
And slap each other on the back
For Grandad Behan is eigherty.

Croats, Serb,
Peaches, Herb,
Iraqi and Kuwaiti
Are all united
And delighted
That their love is now requited.
Finns and Lapps
Are happy chaps,
No longer argue over maps,
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

Far off in Rome,
‘Neath Peter’s dome,
The Pope speaks to the laity.
“Let us pray,”
They hear him say,
“And give our thanks to God today.
Let quarrels cease
And wars decrease
And may the whole world be at peace,
For Grandad Behan is eigherty.

Mr. Putin
Stops disputin’
Matters grave and weighty.
And, off the cuff,
Declares “Enough!
I’m tired of all this dismal stuff.
I’ve changed my stance,
I’m off to France
To ask Sarkhozy for a dance,
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

Captain Jack,
His eyepatch black,
Cries out, “Ahoy there, matey!
The winds prevail,
We must set sail
And run before the southwest gale.
We must make land
Tonight as planned,
For shipmates, you must understand
That Grandad Behan is eighty.

From Katmandu
To Timbuktu
From Ho Chi Min to Haiti,
In every state,
There is a trait
To shout out wildly “God is great!”
The churchbells ring,
The angels sing,
The Golden Eagle’s on the wing
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

And up in space,
The Martian race
Joins in the fun and gaiety.
They rub their knees
And hop like fleas
And squeak like rabbits eating cheese.
They’re swigging jars
In roadside bars –
The atmosphere is great on Mars
Now Grandad Behan is eigherty.