I remember Eighteen, a callow and spotty youth,
Aftershave and gelled up hair, I thought I was so smooth.
I was Mister Cool, women just had no chance.
I could do just anything, unless they wanted to dance.
I remember Eighteen, my parents were so dull,
Life at home drove me mad, bored right out my skull.
No mortgage or savings held me
back, they were only for ‘oldies’ you see.
Earn it, spend it, sponge off Mum, life was easy and free.
I remember Eighteen, I just knew it all.
I could only speak in grunts, but had an ego ten foot tall.
Parents just didn’t know, why I would rant and rage.
How could they understand, they never were my age.
I remember Eighteen, my hormones running wild.
When I knew, just every woman, wanted to have my child.
When I went on the ‘pull’, cologne could cut the air.
Most sex I had, was in my dreams, at real women we’d just stare.
I remember Eighteen, to be a rebel I would vow,
Never to be establishment, like my parents now.
I wouldn’t be like the rest of them, I never would get old.
No mortgages and bills for me, no arthritis when I’m cold.
I remember Eighteen, with my life’s planned special route.
So how come, I’m suddenly fifty, with a mortgage and a suit?