Now I’m Sixty-Four

With apologies to John Lennon (1940-1980) and Paul McCartney

Now I’ve got older, lost all my hair,
And the charms have fled,
Haggard lines gorge tracks as deep as Rhondda Fach,
Blotchy skin’s like toughened bark.
If I go out it’s to see the GP
When the legs are sore,
Can I still haul there, can I still crawl there,
Now I’m sixty-four.

Getting old’s sheer hell,
And should you shift a turd,
You want to ring a bell!

I should be writing, fixing the house,
But I’m always tired,
Sugar, spliff and caffeine’s just a short-term zap,
By late morning, time for a nap.
Doing the garden fucks up my back,
Time for bed once more.
No more libido, where did my pep go,
Now I’m sixty-four.

Every season I avoid The Cottage
In the pits of Splott, shallow Tory queens,
Botoxed clucking hens,
Tits swinging to their knees –
And that’s just the men!

Send me no message, leave me alone,
Now the penny’s dropped:
Former popularity was not romance,
Just a ruse to get in my pants.
Here is the answer John found too late:
Love needs much much more,
Hate is what drives man, hate is what thrives, man.
This is sixty-four.