MY VELVET RUT

Last week I went skinny-dipping
with some college kids who were tripping
at some apartment-complex pool.
They were born when I was their age,
but they were pretty cool.

I tried to tell 'em 'bout the ways
that we did things in the good old days,
and how we never worried 'bout the rent;
then they put their clothes on,
and I don't know where they went.

These new ones don't understand,
and think I'm some old nut.
I'm just groovin' along here in my velvet rut.

la-di-da-di-da-di-daaaaa . . .

Rode my bike to the food co-op –
the natural place for me to shop –
and bought a gallon of organic water;
flirted with the checkout girl
who's young enough to be my daughter.

Call me a die-hard optimist,
but modern girls still can't resist
my good ol' horny-hippie rap,
even though some people tell me,
"These girls don't fall for that old crap."

I suppose that I'm really looking for
is some cute holistic teenage slut
to share all this space in my velvet rut.

la-di-da-di-da-di-daaaaa . . .

You might see me at some party
where the guests are kinda arty
and there's no food, but lots of booze,
which the host, whoever he is,
would find it rude if I'd refuse.

I came to a party here before –
or maybe it was the house next door –
and I'd left the conversation I just entered:
this is how I'd held my beer
as I'd last laughed and bantered.

All I have to show for years of
coming to these parties is a gut,
just an occupational hazard of living in my velvet rut.

la-di-da-di-da-di-daaaaa . . .

I awoke this morning from a
nightmare of an endless summer
that makes it hard to believe it'll ever get colder.
I've seen 'em come and go,
and where they end up, I don't know,
but all I ever get from this is older.

Don't pass me another beer –
it'll only keep me longer here,
and it's all I can do not to stay.
The party ended long ago,
although it rages to this day.

One day in the pleasure dome;
next day in a nursing home,
where everybody's old and toothless –
how could I have believed
that I never would be youthless?

God forbid I should ever wait for
an attendant to come wipe my butt,
while still living here in my velvet rut.

la-di-da-di-da-di-daaaaa . . .

© 2011 Steve Fitch