My Best Friend's 41st

Oh, ‘Happy Birthday’ Dearest
Today you’re forty-one
We’re glad to see you’ve kept your looks
And contagious sense of fun

I’m glad your upper arms
Are still firm and well defined
And they don’t resemble legs of lamb
As unfortunately, do mine

We’re delighted that your teeth
Are still white and in their place
That they haven’t gone all brown
And distorted half your face

We’re equally encouraged
That your arse is neat and firm
And hasn’t sunk, dropped or dropped
And still makes men’s heads turn

And your gorgeous shiny hair
(Still expertly cut)
Shows no sign of any silver grey
But of cherry and walnut

In fact, our dearest friend
You’re in fantastic nick
Oh, what we’d give to look that good
You really make us sick