On Old long syne . . .

Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once
reflect On Old long syne.

 On Old long syne my Jo,
 On Old long syne,
That thou canst never once reflect,
 On Old long syne.


. . . a tip of the hat to master Robert Burns . . .