There is nothing the matter with me,
I’m as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin,
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

Arch supports, I have for my feet,
Or I wouldn’t be able to be on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I’m alright.
My memory is failing, my head’s in a spin
But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in.

The moral is this, as my tale unfolds,
That for you and me who are growing old
It’s better to say, “I’m fine” with a grin,
Than to let folks know the shape we are in.

How do I know that my youth is all spent?
When my ‘Get up and Go’ has got up and went.
But I really don’t mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the grand places my ‘Get up’ has bin.
Old age is golden, I’ve heard it said.
But, sometimes I wonder, as I get into bed
With my ears in the drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table, until I wake up.
Ere sleep overtakes me, I say to myself,
“Is there anything else I could lay on the shelf?”

When I was young, my slippers were red.
I could kick my heels over my head.
When I was older, my slippers were blue.
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now that I’m old, my slippers are black,
I walk to the store, and puff my way back.

I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
And pick up the paper, and read the ‘Obits.’
If my name is still missing, I know I’m not dead.
So I have a good breakfast,
And go back to bed.

unless you really want to be close to the roomies,, or are swingers