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Lather was thirty years old today
They took away all of his toys
His mother sent newspaper
clippings to him
About his friends who
had stopped being boys
There was howard c green
just turned thirty-three
His leather chair waits at the bank
And sergeant dow jones
twenty-seven years old
Commanding his very own tank
But lather still finds
it a nice thing to do
To lie about nude in the sand
Drawing pictures of
mountains that look like bumps
And thrashing the
air with his hands
But wait ol' lather's
productive you know
He produces the finest of sound
Putting drumsticks on
either side of his nose
Snorting the best licks in town
But that's all over
Lather was thirty years
old today
And lather came foam from his tongue
He looked at me eyes
wide and plainly say
Is it true that I'm no
longer young
And the children call him famous
What the old men call insane
And sometimes he's so nameless
That he hardly
knows what game to play
Which words to say
And I should have told
him 'no you're not old '
And I should have let him
go on smiling babywide
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