The old rocker wore his hair too long
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionable to the end - drank his ale too light
Death's head belt buckle - yesterday's dreams
The transport caf' prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
In his post-war-babe gloom
Now he's too old to rock 'n' roll
But he's too young to die
He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
And prays that he always will
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
All of his mates are doing time
Married with three kids up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line
And some of them own little sports cars
And meet at the tennis club do's
For drinks on a Sunday, work on Monday
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes
Now they're too old to rock 'n' roll
And they're too young to die
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionable to the end - drank his ale too light
Death's head belt buckle - yesterday's dreams
The transport caf' prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
In his post-war-babe gloom
Now he's too old to rock 'n' roll
But he's too young to die
He once owned a Harley Davidson and a Triumph Bonneville
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
And prays that he always will
But he's the last of the blue blood greaser boys
All of his mates are doing time
Married with three kids up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line
And some of them own little sports cars
And meet at the tennis club do's
For drinks on a Sunday, work on Monday
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes
Now they're too old to rock 'n' roll
And they're too young to die
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