Thread: For the old Far/Gentlemen on here

There is nothing the matter with me,
I’m healthy as I can be.
I have arthritis in both my knees
And when I talk I wheeze.
My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

Arch supports I have for my feet,
Or I wouldn’t be able to be on the street,
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I’m alright.
My memory is failing, my heads in a spin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

The moral is this as my tale I unfold,
That for you and me, who are growing old,
It’s better to say “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.

How do I know my youth is all spent?
Well, my 'get up and go' has got up and went
But I really don't mind when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my 'get up' has bin.

Old age is golden I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
'Ere sleep overtakes me' I say to myself,
'Is there anything else I could lay on the shelf'.

When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick my heels right over my head.
As I grew older my slippers were blue
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old my slippers are black,
I walk to the shop and puff my way back.



I get up each morning and dust off my wits
And pick up the paper to read the 'obits'.
If my name is still missing I know I'm not dead,
And so I have a good breakfast
and go back to bed.
At my age I've done and bin,
But I'M AWFULLY WELL FOR THE SHAPE I'M IN.