Too Old To Rock N Roll: To Young To Die Lyrics

Too Old To Rock N Roll: To 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 but he's too young to
die.

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.