I done stole, er, writ a mournful sort of song fer Bobert's passing:

Poor Bobert's dead
Poor Bobert's dead
Both his friends are weepin' wail for miles around
The daisies in the dell
Will give out a different smell
Because poor Bobert's underneath the ground

Poor Bobert is dead
A candle lights his head
He's layin' in a coffin made of wood
And folks are feelin' sad
'Cuz they used to cuss him bad
And now they know that Ol' Bobert's gone for good

Poor Bobert's dead
A candle lights his head
He's lookin' oh so purty and so nice
He looks like he's asleep
It's a shame that he won't keep
But it's summer and we're runnin' out a' ice.