Take Me To...
Trouble's Place On The Net
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
Of doom that is our fate,
That started when programmers used
Two digits for a date.
Main memory was smaller then,
Hard disks were smaller, too.
"Four digits are extravagant,
So let's get by with two."
"This works through 1999,"
The programmers did say,
Unless we rewrite before that,
It all will go away.
But management had not a clue,
"It works fine now, you bet!
A rewrite is a straight expense,
We won't do it just yet."
Now when 2000 rolls around,
It all goes straight to hell,
For zero is less than ninety-nine,
As anyone can tell.
The mail won't bring your pension check
It won't be sent to you,
When you're no longer sixty-eight,
But minus thirty-two.
The problems we're about to face,
Are frightening, for sure,
And reading every line of code
Is the only certain cure.
There's not much time,
There's too much code,
And Cobol-coders few,
When the century is finished with,
We may be finished, too.
Eight thousand years from now I hope
That things weren't left too late,
And people aren't lamenting then,
Four digits for a date!
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