The old Rocker wore his hair too long
Wore his trouser cuffs too tight
Unfashionable to the end drank his ale too light
Death's head belt buckle yesterday's dreams
The transport cafe prophet of doom
Ringing no change in his double-sewn seams
In his post-war-babe gloom

Now he's too old to Rock'n'Roll but he's too young to die

So the old Rocker gets out his bike
To make a ton before he takes his leave
Up on the A1 by Scotch Corner
Just like it used to be
And as he flies tears in his eyes
His wind-whipped words echo the final take
And he hits the trunk road doing around 120
With no room left to brake

And he was too old to Rock'n'Roll but he was too young to die

No, you're never too old to Rock'n'Roll if you're too young to die