spring it is cheery,
winter is dreary,
green leaves hang, but the brown must fly;
when he’s forsaken,
wither’d and shaken,
what can an old man do but die?
love will not clip him,
maids will not lip him,
maud and marian pass him by;
youth it is sunny,
age has no honey —
what can an old man do but die?
june it was jolly,
oh for its folly!
a dancing leg and a laughing eye;
youth may be silly,
wisdom is chilly —
what can an old man do but die?
friends, they are scanty,
beggars are plenty,
if he has followers, i know why;
gold’s in his clutches,
(buying him crutches!)
what can an old man do but die?
