Too Old To Rock 'N' Roll, Too Young To Die

Um, this is a song which got us into some small degree of trouble back home in Blighty
Where the music critics decided that it was a song of an autobiographical nature
Indeed, that I was singing about myself
Ha, silly sods, of course I wasn't, I was singing about some other cunt
It's called Too Old To Rock And Roll, Too Young To Die


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 and he's too young to die
Yes, he was too old to rock 'n' roll and he was too young to die

So the old rocker gets out his bike to make a ton before he takes his leave
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner, just like it used to be
And as he flies, tears in his eyes, his wind-whipped words echo the final take
And he hits the trunk road doing around a hundred and twenty with no room left to brake

And he was too old to rock 'n' roll and he was too young to die
Yes, he was too old to rock 'n' roll and he was too young to die
No, you are never too old to rock 'n' roll if you?re too young to die
No, you are never too old to rock 'n' roll if you?re too young to die

But he was too young to die