No hair, no teeth, no flares,
‘It’s only rock and roll but I like it.’
Loose mouth, loose trousers, loose women?
‘Eat my guitar riff, dudorinos,
Set them there speakers to eleven,
Cos my groove is gonna make your ears bleed!’
Clean cardigan, ironed jeans, sensible shoes,
‘Cos tramps like us, baby we were born to run!’

​

Weak handshake, weak bladder, spooky stare,
‘Lets mosh surf the streets an’ par tay like its 1999!’
Dropped statins, popped aspirins, inhaled ace inhibitors,
‘Dancing on the ceiling in an iron lung with little Sis.’
Cratered jowls, liver spots, sunken eyes
‘Mrs.Honky-Tonk, how come your brown sugar tastes so good?
We broke a thousand hearts ‘cos we’re bad to the bone.
B..b..b..b..b..b bad to the bone.’

​

Trashed rooms, trash talk, snarling middle fingers,
‘So you think I got an evil mind?’
Fading tattoos, fading photos, fading fortunes
‘Girls grab the boys, come on feel their pulse,
We get wild, wild, wild, oh yeah!’
Head banging the night away, stepping out over the line,
Smells like teen spirit with more than a hint of open grave,
‘Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.’

​

Sprung from cages on the road to nowhere,
Their pension book just another brick in the wall,
They’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name,
It felt good to leave their cakes out in the rain,
California dreaming, flicking their back hair grey ponytails,
Still looking for lurv on that long train running,
Gotta keep paying those alimony cheques on shrinking royalties,
Never mind, ‘shine on, shine on, you crazy diamonds!’

All the young dudes carried the news,
Tried to guard our dreams and visions,
Took a walk on the wild side for us,
Then tied their yellow ribbons around the old oak tree.
Did those cats really get off on that revolution buzz?
Was there really something in the air?
Antichrists’ and anarchists with fish farms in the burbs?
Wearing Harris tweeds! Shoulda, shoulda, died before they got old. 

Pray hush pilgrims, our Gods are fretting for their art,
‘Hey guys, can I take a nap during the drum solo?’
‘You are NOT using a Zimmer frame on stage!’
‘Just walk on by if I pass out.’
‘No flashing lights man, I’ve got epilepsy.’
‘What! The Stonehenge model’s the size of a cereal box!’
‘No, smartarse, my makeup is NOT embalming fluid.’
‘The groupies have got white hair and freaking walking sticks!’
‘MY EFFING HEARING AID IS EFFING TURNED UP.’
‘Can we ditch, ‘Emphysema blues’ and ‘Hurry, call an ambulance?’

​

We gotta get our shit together sooner or later
Because the boys are back in town,
And they’re tired of being deceived by chicks with pricks.
Watch them go a deeper shade of purple
Blaming the smoke on the water for getting in their eyes.
Sympathy for the devil is no longer the name of the game,
Can you hear them humming, ‘When I’m sixty-four?’
The fire still burns, for thrills they still yearn, now rock on!

​

Kings, Queens, President’s step aside for Sir Mick and Prince Skeletor!
Kneel and exalt the ‘Night of the Living Dead,’ reunion tableaus,
‘Young man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you,’
Brave riders on the storm, for those about to drop, we salute you!
Remember man, ‘God gave rock and roll to you, 
Put it in the soul of everyone.’ Lighters ready?
Hey, who the eff is the baldy on the bongo?
Altogether now, ‘and he’s buy…uy…ing a stairlift to hea…ven.’