Growing Old Disgracefully

You won’t still need me when I’m sixty four years old
Cantankerous and greedy and complaining of the cold
Maybe Heaven waits for me if I’m as good as gold
I’m not going gracefully, doing what I’m told

I don’t want your pensions
I don’t want your pills
I don’t want your testaments and wills
I don’t want your jumpers
I don’t want your scarves
I don’t think this honeymoon will last
I don’t need you to patronise me
I don’t want the milkman to find me
I don’t need that, thank you kindly
I don’t want your science to blind me
I don’t want your advertisements
I won’t give up my driving licence
For all the years of noise and violence
I don’t want your two minutes silence
I don’t want your pensions
I don’t want your pills
I don’t want your testaments and wills
I don’t want your jumpers
I don’t want your scarves
I don’t think this honeymoon will last
I don’t want the honeymoon to last
I just want my future to live up to my past

I don’t wanna take a government bribe
I don’t wanna take a freebie bus ride
I don’t wanna see The Beatles revived
Not at any time while I’m still alive
I don’t want to carry carrier bags
I don’t need a lot of razzmatazz
Just some tick ‘a’ tape,
some bunting and flags
I want a funeral
with a band that plays jazz
I won’t be part of any marketing plan
I am the heart of every marketing man
I won’t be paying any V.A.T.
I won’t be O.A.P.L.C.

I’m growing old disgracefully