All the young dudes, growin’ old,
Wanna get their story told,
Wanna see their names in print,
Write a bio’— make a mint.
All the young dudes, wearin’ specs,
Waitin’ on retirement cheques,
Takin’ stairlifts up to heaven —
Lift broke back in ’sixty-seven.
All the young dudes, gettin’ frail,
Hair a whiter shade of pale,
Thinkin’ back to glory days,
Memories a purple haze.
All the young dudes, short on cash,
Hittin’ wine insteada hash,
Got no use for LSD —
Drugs come from the pharmacy.
All the young dudes — cut to fade,
Gettin’ limp insteada laid,
Life’s a bitch and two’s a crowd —
Crank the volume way up loud.