I don’t wanna be one of those rockabilly kids
whose DA’s seen better days and hit the skids
nothing but a sad and spindly nest on top
with room in the middle for a half dozen eggs to drop

Don’t let me be a drinker in the old boy’s snug
in a plastic mac and a dodgy rug
that noone has the heart to tell
his pants are on backwards and his hair as well

Or the geography teacher with the oily attitude
whose four brylcreemed strands of latitude
swing out like the arms of a crane
whenever he leans over your desk to explain
what a moraine is

because – you know – the REAL pain is

trying to keep what you’ve naturally lost
and fighting change whatever the cost

c’mon! you’re better off facing it
your hair’s not there and it’s pointless chasing it

fuck getting old! fuck the slippers!
(but get yourself a pair of clippers)