I drink to you a toast tonight.

Good fellowship's my text.

Not the chap who takes your hand in an idling hour, you know.

Not the chap who slaps your back, as long as the highballs flow.

But the chap who speaks a kindly word, when all the world seems wrong.

The chap who grips your hand like a vice and tells you life is only a song.

What if the fellow lies, and what if he knows it too.

There are times in life when the chap who lies is the only friend that's true.

So cavil and rant, ye prudes who will,

of the evils of wine and gin.

But somehow the real true things we feel leak out when the wine flows in. A fool is a fool, a cad is a cad, whichever God meant him to be.

But a man who's a man won't forget

he's a man, even if out on a spree.

So, I drink this toast to you my friends, from a heart to a heart, let it run.

Here's to good fellows all over the world.

And God bless them, every one.