This Old Man

I keep getting older and hairier

On my neck, back, and derriere, oh

But not atop the pate

Dear DNA, let's negotiate

I'll trade the fading vision, you could have that back

Plus the 30-year-old-man belly's kinda wack

My hearing is nearing deafness and I wheeze

"Yo, please save me from the wrist hurt disease"

It's infeasible that these, a full list of ailments

Should do anything but accrue, I'ma fail ten times out of ten

To age in reverse like Mork

Is there anything sadder than a dork

For whom the new hotness is not just inaccessible

It's grumbled against? You kids, reduce your decibels

Don't make me come over there and shake my cane

It's that rapper from the double-A-R-P and he insane

This old man, he rhymed once

He put up some valiant fronts

With a wick-wack, bitter lack of youthfulness and charm

This old man kept rhyming on

Joints creaking while I squeak around the stage

Hella grandmothers telling me I ought to act my age

Deranged already, I don't got no brain medicine

If we were running out of food on a boat, I'd get jettisoned

Or eaten, I'm unsweetened

Don't tell me that I got the shortest straw, I'm not a cretin

Just a little senile and gassy and slow

But I bet I'm very salty, and I could still row

Let's gobble on that infant, infants are useless

Also very soft, which is good, 'cause I'm toothless

Come on, kids, you want to get rescued or what?

Don't mumble all amongst yourselves, speak up

I lost my earhorn the other day on the bus

You would think by the way you whippersnappers make a fuss

That I said something crazy, profound, or obscene

Wait, where'd the ocean go? Where have you taken me?

This old man, he rhymed twice

He found this would not suffice

With a wick-wack, bitter lack of youthfulness and vim

This old man was dour and grim

This old man was dour and grim

Now Frontalot's shopping for the top of the hill

Should have bought a burial plot soon as I got ill

But I foolishly thought that I could put it off

Now I'm ghoulishly fraught with a—

Soft in the head, hard in the disposition

How'd I earn this intractable attrition

Of the vigor that I figured would be mine for life?

Is there no upside? Well, the rhymes are rife

Every year I'm alive, add to my vocabulary

Gonna do it till I'm staring at the ceiling in the mortuary

Plus, I'm probably wise by now

And could do all the things old people talk about

Like count pills, argue bills at diners

Get a little tiny funky car and be a Shriner

Go to the haberdasher so I could look dapper

Get stroke and forget I'm too old to be a rapper

This old man, he rhymed thrice

He spoke a thin gruel of lies

With a wick-wack, bitter lack of youthfulness and spunk

This old man's rhymes was bunk

This old man, he rhymed lots

Rhymed till he grew liver spots

With a wick-wack, bitter lack of youthfulness and cheer

Why he rhymed remains unclear