Here comes me, thirty year old me
Born into the world kicking and screaming
Still wanting to be in his twenties, really, though
Promised I’d give up smoking when I turned the big three – oh
But I don’t intend to unless you want to replace
My beautiful addiction with something else that gives me as much pleasure
You won’t find me sipping on wheat grass and herbal tea
You’ll see me at the back, whiskey in hand smoking big fat obnoxious cigars
So all the little babies can die from the cancer I’m giving them.
You better not walk your dog too close to me, it might get cancer
I better stop fishing, I might give all the fish cancer
My cat probably already has cancer
And it’s all my fault!
You’ll be sorry, when all this isn’t such a joke anymore and you’re lying in hospital.
Why don’t you come visit me and say “I told you so”
Why don’t you come visit me on my death bed and say
“It’s not so funny now is it?”
And listen for the response you get that I try to muster from my tumour ridden innards
It’ll sound something like.
“While you were all going around telling people how to live their lives…
“I lived mine.
“While you were too busy – busy bodying around other people’s business.
“I had a life I enjoyed.
“And who the hell wants someone to wipe their ass for them when they’re 90?
Thanks for the words Dennis.