Sourdough's LamentPublished by Susan on 08/10/2003 (5206 reads)
When I was a Klondike high-roller
I tilted my poke with the best,
Through climate at times might be polar,
I'd plenty of hair on my chest.
Now while I've no trace of rheumatics,
And maybe I shouldn't complain,
I'm worried because I just ain't what I was,
And I wish I was Eighty again.
I still have my love for the ladies,
Chuck grand-mannies under the chin;
Yet, Having a horror of Hades
I'm kindo' allergic to sin.
Aye, though the hoch-bird be a-singing,
I'm deaf to its dulcet refrain;
When the going gets rude you've gotta be good,-
Gee! I wish I was Eighty again.
Some claim that the Nineties were naughty,
Them statements I grieve to reverse;
You've got to be humble - not haughty
To jiggetty-jog of the hearse.
I blink at the blonde in bikini,
I shrink from the wink of champagne . . .
But reforming, by heck! What a pain in the neck!
Gosh! I wish I was Eighty again!
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