Getting Old

I don't remember getting old, .it should'nt happen yet.I need to do some other thingsthat aren't decided yet.Who said my joints should ache like this?my eyesight's getting bad,and when I hit the bedroom,well, things are looking sad.I'm fifty three, how can that be?I'm really not that old.my body doesn't understandit won't do what it's told.I tell it to run round the trackfor seven laps or more.I get to three, it answers me,you're only getting four.When I was in my prime you know.I'd drink ten pints or more,then rise the very next morningand off to work I'd roar.But now I have a glass of wineand things start looking hazymy body likes it best in bedI never was that lazy.At seventeen the big three O,was what I used to fearat twenty four I thought the doorto forty wasn't near.At forty two the big five Owas looming at the double,the big six O is next you know,oh boy! Am I in trouble!When god invites me for a chatto find out where I'm goingI'll tell him, well, I don't want hellthere's no one there I'm knowing,I'll go to heaven if that's OK.and wait there with my hymn book,till the missus gets herself up hereto teach the angels to cook.