my hair has turned it all white, But don’t call it gray… saying “blond” is just right. My car is all paid for… not a nickel is owed. Yet a kid yells, “Old duffer… get off of the road!” My car has no scratches… not even a dent. Still, I get all that guff from a punk who’s “Hell bent.” My friends all get
older… much faster than me. They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see. I’ve got “character lines,” not wrinkles… for sure, But don’t call me old… just call me mature. The steps in the houses they’re building today Are so high that they take… your breath all away; And the
streets are much steeper than 10 years ago. That should explain why my walking is slow. But I’m keeping up on what’s hip and what’s new, And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo. I’m still in the running… in this I’m secure, I’m not really old… I’m only mature!