He’s having a big mid life crisis

It’s a bit late, I grant you, but true

It should have begun in his forties

And not when he hit eighty two

When he traded his wife for a new one

(She is thirty years younger, or more)

The old one was getting quite past it

So he told her, and showed her the door

He now spends his time, with fine dining and wine

And all of life’s pleasures and joys

From Italian suits and dying his roots

To a house full of gadgets and toys

In the garage there sits a big Harley

And whenever the weather is sunny

He jumps on his hack, with his bird on the back

And they go out and spend loadsa money

But he’s not such a big hairy biker

Since when they return from the trip

He’ll sit down in front of the fire

For a cocoa, and afternoon kip

As his old aching bones start rebelling

And he ponders upon his past life

All the things he has done, the women the fun

But most, how he misses his wife