Pushin’ Sixty vs. Pushin’ Sixty

In addition to everything else going on, I turn 60 this May. (Or should I say “dismay?”) It’s nothing to celebrate, but I thought the occasion called for a parody (or two) since the next major crank of the odometer doesn’t scan—assuming I live to see it.

Sung to the tune of “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)”
(with apologies to Paul Simon)

I’m slow, can’t move too fast—
Not quite as well as in the past;
Just easin’ down my weary bones
Takin’ a nap and pushin’ sixty—
Ba da-da da-da da-da, pushin’ sixty.

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Hello Doctor, what’cha findin’
Just tell my why my knees are grindin’
Ain’t you got no meds for me?
Doo-ait-n-doo-doo, pushin’ sixty—
Ba da-da da-da da-da, pushin’ sixty.

I got more work to do, more print deadlines to meet—
I’m cranky and achy and dead on my feet;
Let the eveningtime drop a warm blanket on me—
Life, you kill me, pushin’ sixty!

Sung to the tune of “Makin’ Whoopee!”
(with apologies to Gus Kahn and Walter Donaldson)

Ev’ry time I hear that march that Chopin wrote
I can feel an icy hand upon my throat;
Maybe that is why I see the sunny side
When I see another take that final ride;
Fun’rals make a lot of people sad,
But if you’re not the corpse they’re not so bad.

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Refrain 1:
Another tick, another tock,
Another spin around the clock,
Another stumble, another grumble—
I’m pushin’ sixty!

A lot of days, a lot of weeks,
The body’s ailing, it cracks and creaks,
I’m quickly aging—and so I’m raging
While pushin’ sixty!

It only seems a minute
Since I began my tale;
I’ll take some solace in it—
Watch as my organs fail.

My bones are weary, can’t climb the stairs,
It makes me teary—but then, who cares?
I’m a back number who’s craving slumber—
I’m pushin’ sixty!

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Refrain 2:
Another year has come and went
And you shall hear my discontent:
My stomach’s acid—all else is flaccid:
I’m pushin’ sixty!

I’m in the dark ’most ev’ry night
I’m looking for my pilot light;
I just can’t find it—but, never mind it:
I’m pushin’ sixty!

I don’t feel very vital,
Largely devoid of cheer;
Doctor heard my recital,
Said, “Just stop drinking beer.”

I said, “Oh hell, suppose I lapse?”
The Doc says, “They’ll start playing ‘Taps’—
But you won’t hear it; The Reaper: fear it—
You’re pushin’ sixty!”

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Andy Senior is the Publisher of The Syncopated Times and on occasion he still gets out a Radiola! podcast for our listening pleasure.

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