Oh Jesus Christ I'm nearly forty   
   My pubic hair is going grey   
   I can't cut the mustard like I used to   
   I think it's downhill all the way   
      
   Oh please don't dump me by the seaside   
   Don't shout as if my ears don't work   
   Never let me pee my trousers   
   Don't let me dribble down my shirt   
      
   The hair that once flowed round my shoulders   
   Is drifting off just like the tide   
   That thing that was my little parting   
   Is now about four inches wide   
      
   And when you see me on the buses   
   Oh please don't offer me your seat   
   Or when you're crunching on those apples   
   I'll be sucking boiled sweets   
      
   I can't play squash or go out jogging   
   For fear my heart is going to burst   
   I think that beds were made for sleeping   
   And that's a whole lot bloody worse   
      
   I think I'll stay at home this evening   
   And watch whatever's on the box   
   I must buy some thermal knickers   
   A night cap and some woolly socks   
      
   Oh Jesus Christ I'm nearly forty   
   My pubic hair is going grey   
   I can't cut the mustard like I used to   
   I think it's downhill all the way   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)