There's nothing the matter with me, I'm as healthy as can be I have arthritis in both my knees, and when I talk, I talk with a 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 cross the street, Sleep is denied my night after night, but every morning I find I'm alright, My memory is failing; my head is in a spin, but I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
The moral is this, as the tale I unfold, that for me and you who are getting old, It's better to say I'm fine with a grin than to let folks know the shape we're in.
How do I know that 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 been.
Old age is golden, I've heard it said, but sometimes I wonder as I get into bed With my ears in a cup, my eyes on the table until I wake up. E're sleep comes O're me, I say to myself "Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?"
When I was young my slippers were red, I could kick up my heels right over my head. When I grew older my slippers were blue but still I could dance the whole night through. Now that I'm old my slippers are black, I walk to the store and puff myself back. I get up each morning and dust off my wits, pick up the paper and read the 'Obits'. If my name is still missing, I know I'm not dead, so I get a good breakfast and go back to bed.