The old Rocker wore his hair too long
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionalbe 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, old, old to Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
But he's too old to die
Yes he's too old, old, old to Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
A-but he's too young to die
He onced owned a Harley Davidson
And a Triumph Bonneville
Counted his friends in his
Burned-out spark plugs
And prays he always will
But he's the last of the blue blood
Greaser boys
And all of his mates are doing time
Married with 3 kids
Up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line
And some of them own
Little sports cars
And meet the tennis club due's
For drinks on a Sunday
Work on Monday
They've thrown away their blue suede shoes
Now they're too old, old, old to Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
But they're too old to die
Yes, they're too old, old, old, to Rock 'N" Roll, Roll, Roll
And they're too young to die
So the old rocker
Gets out his bike
To make a ton before he gets 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 in the road
Doing around a hundred and twenty
With no room left to brake
And he was too old, old, old, to Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
And he was too young to die
He was too old, old, old, to Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
And he was too young to die
Now you're-a never too old, old, old
To Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
If you're too young to die
Now you're-a never too old, old, old
To Rock 'N' Roll, Roll, Roll
But he was too young to die
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