This Old Man

I keep gettin' older and hairier

on my neck, back, and derriere

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 is kind o' 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'm 'a 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 tellin' me I ought to act my age.

Deranged already, I don't got no brain medicine.

If we were runnin' 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 the infant. Infants are useless.

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

Come on kids, you wanna 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.

Now Frontalot's shopping for the top of the hill.

Should have bought a burial plot as soon as I got ill,

but I foolishly thought that I could put it off;

now I'm ghoulishly fraught with a [koff koff koff].

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.