Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll - Too Young to Die
By Jethro Tull
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.
