Oops, screwed up the last verse. It should read:

Let mares and cows, by calculating
Improve themseves with loveless mating,
Let groundlings breed in the modern fashion;
I'll stick to the air and the grand old passion
I may be small and I'm just a bee
But I won't have Science improving on me.
Not me.
I'm a bee.
On a day that's fair with a wind that's free,
Any old drone is the lad for me.