Song Lyrics
Just like it used to be and as he flies, now he s too old to rock n roll but he s too young to die
But he was too young to die, death s head belt buckle, married with three kids up by the ring road
Sold their souls straight down the line, unfashionable to the end Roll, yesterday s dreams
married with three kids up by the ring road
Married with three kids up by the ring road, and prays that he always will
and prays that he always will
So the old rocker gets out his bike, just like it used to be and as he flies, and he hits the trunk road doing around 120
he once owned a harley davidson and a triumph bonneville
Counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs, sold their souls straight down the line
And prays that he always will, ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
his wind-whipped words echo the final take
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams, counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs, now he s too old to rock n roll but he s too young to die
And prays that he always will, and he hits the trunk road doing around 120, work on monday
The old rocker wore his hair too long, the transport caf prophet of doom, so the old rocker gets out his bike
ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
married with three kids up by the ring road
In his post-war-babe gloom, and meet at the tennis club do s
and prays that he always will
Drank his ale too light, sold their souls straight down the line, but he s the last of the blue blood greaser boys
unfashionable to the end
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams, to make a ton before he takes his leave
His wind-whipped words echo the final take, the old rocker wore his hair too long
all of his mates are doing time
Tears in his eyes, and he hits the trunk road doing around 120 Tull, and he was too old to rock n roll but he was too young to die
death s head belt buckle
so the old rocker gets out his bike
Now he s too old to rock n roll but he s too young to die, yesterday s dreams
to make a ton before he takes his leave
For drinks on a sunday, his wind-whipped words echo the final take, death s head belt buckle
Tears in his eyes, and meet at the tennis club do s Tull, wore his trouser cuffs too tight
In his post-war-babe gloom, now they re too old to rock n roll and they re too young to die, his wind-whipped words echo the final take
The transport caf prophet of doom, sold their souls straight down the line 'N', and some of them own little sports cars
For drinks on a sunday, but he was too young to die, drank his ale too light
His wind-whipped words echo the final take, but he s the last of the blue blood greaser boys
the old rocker wore his hair too long
yesterday s dreams
just like it used to be and as he flies
Death s head belt buckle, wore his trouser cuffs too tight
And he hits the trunk road doing around 120, wore his trouser cuffs too tight
his wind-whipped words echo the final take
up on the a1 by scotch corner
Up on the a1 by scotch corner, now he s too old to rock n roll but he s too young to die
now they re too old to rock n roll and they re too young to die
counted his friends in burned-out spark plugs
To make a ton before he takes his leave, in his post-war-babe gloom
all of his mates are doing time
You re never too old to rock n roll if you re too young to die, drank his ale too light
He once owned a harley davidson and a triumph bonneville, the old rocker wore his hair too long
But he s the last of the blue blood greaser boys, work on monday
And he hits the trunk road doing around 120, just like it used to be and as he flies Old, you re never too old to rock n roll if you re too young to die