Forty-Six Inch Waist
He wonders why his life's become a cruel cliche,
and middle-aged decay has forced him to admit,
he's getting fat, his eyesight's dim, he's going grey.
He sits at work and shines his arse all day,
his belly bulges and he feels his pants may split.
He wonders why his life's become a cruel cliche;
He thinks he danced the wild fandango yesterday;
or was it twenty years ago? He feels a twit!
He's getting fat, his recall's dim, he's going grey.
His wife is bored, the kids have fled or gone astray,
he spends all day at work and wishes he could quit,
then wonders why his life's become a cruel cliche.
A horny mistress or perhaps becoming gay
would help to staunch the tide a little bit,
he's getting fat, his love life's dull, his pubes are grey.
He'll cycle, run, play squash and dance ballet,
or just accept that forty-something feels like shit.
He understands that he is now a cruel cliche,
he's rather fat, his mind is dull, his life is grey.