He`s on the stair lift to heaven, he`s on the highway to hell,
he thinks his nursing home`s called the Chelsea Hotel.
As he f-f-f-fades away, his feet feel awful cold,
but he was never going to die before he got old.
He`s been on the dance floor from Elvis through to hip-hop,
he`s been jiving so long, that now he needs a hip-op.
He`s not trying to cause a big sensation,
he`s just talking `bout his operation.
Gone are the beads and the flowing locks,
these days he keeps his stash in a plastic dosset box.
He pops a handful of pills but he doesn`t feel like Jimmy the Mod,
he doesn`t need psychedelics to get him closer to God.
He never liked the Bee Gees or the Jackson Five,
but now each day`s a thriller as long as he`s staying alive.
His mobility scooter burns rubber, he`s an Easy Rider
and he`s on the road again to his health care provider.
He`s taken a walk on the wild side, he`s been to the dark side of the moon,
So who can begrudge him a perfect day on a sunny afternoon?
He was a sunshine superman, a freewheeling troubadour,
but now the times are a-changing and he`s knocking on heaven`s door.
He don`t fear the reaper, he was born to be wild,
he`s the nearly grateful dead, he`s a voodoo chile.
Still time for one last track before the great gig in the sky,
`cos you're never too old to rock 'n' roll if you're too young to die.