Where once you enjoyed shaking it about on the dance floor,
You’ll grow arthritic, have angina and no cash left, so, therefore,
You’ll be incapable of jigging anything with the lassies anymore,
By definition far less and less will you manage to score,
For your bodily actions will become far too shrunken and sore,
Later you’ll become an excellent raconteur,
Telling others of your exploits, victories that once you saw,
Tell folks how you were once stung on the bum, by a Dumbledore.
From socialising, drinking and concerts you’ll have to withdraw,
Can’t pay you gas bill, get in trouble with the law for being poor,
With sadness, you’ll recall that in 1963, oh, the shows you saw,
Roy Orbison, Billy Fury, Adam Faith, even Sandie Shaw,
Stopped using your pipe; you can’t afford the Erinmore.
Your pension fund will decrease by at least fives-core,
Embarrassed, you’ll ask for help from the Salvation Army Corps.
Can’t afford to mend your shoes, windows or door,
You’ll not remember what your aftershave was used for!
Short of cash, you’ll have to sell your beloved vibrator,
To buy yourself instead, antiseptic creams and a respirator!
You’re getting up times will become much later,
Looking in the mirror, you’ll see your Pater,
See wrinkles and pot-marks you’ve not noticed, now feeling unsure,
Wake up throughout the night, for WC visits, like never before.
Your speech will be littered with many an error and metaphor,
To eat your meals, you’ll wear your teeth and a pinafore,
Your memory loss and confusion will become folklore,
Bending down to pick summat up, becomes a furore,
Getting utility bills, make you fret and sweat through every pore,
The kids of today, you’ll soon learn to deplore.
Ask why footballers get paid so much more?
Finding your health, mind, teeth and hair you cannot restore,
You get dressed shave shower and wonder what for?
Whence has hope desire and health have gone for sure,
Why, how do you keep up your spirit’s therefore?
Life becomes hard, embittered and a bit of a bore,
Time to browse the undertaker’s brochure?
Then you’ll meet a lovely Olive, ah, that’s the cure!