CThe old FRocker wCore hiGs hair too lonCg,B Amiwore his Dmitrouser cuffs too tighGt.
CUnfashioFnaCble toG theC eBnd ---
Amidrank his Dmiale too light.G
GDeath's heaCd belt bucGkle --- Dyesterday's dreaGms F---
Emithe transport cAmiaf' prophet of dooDm.
GRinging no Cchange in Ghis doubDle-sewn seams iGn hFis
Emi post-war-bAmiabe gloomD.
ND#ow Fhe'sB tooC oFld to Rock'nB'RollF, D# but Ahe's too young tDmio die.
yD#es hFe waBs tooC oFld to Rock'nB'RollF, D# but Bhe's too young to Fdie.
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.
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 120
with no room left to brake.
And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die.
No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die.
Jethro Tull:
Jethro Tull:
Ian Anderson:
