Tom: C
Intro: Am Dm7 Am G
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Alather was thirty years Gold today,
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They took away all of his toys.
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His other sent newspaper clippings to him ,
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About his old friends who'd stopped being boys.
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There was Harwitz E. DGreen, just turned thirty-three,
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His Aleather chair waits at the bank.
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And Seargent Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old,
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Aommanding his very own tank.
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But Lather still finds it a nice thing to do,
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To lie about nude in the sand,
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Drawing pictures of mountains that look like bumps,
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And thrashing the air with his Ahands. A
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But wait, oh Lather's productive you know,
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He produces the finest of sound,
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Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose,
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Snorting the best licks in town .....
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But that's all over...
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ALather was thirty years old today,
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And Lather came foam from his tongue.
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He Alooked at me eyes wide and plainly said,
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Is it true that I'm no longer young?
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And the children call him famous,
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What the old men call insane,
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And sometimes he's so nameless,
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That he hardly knows which game to play...
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Which words to say...
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And I should have told him , "No, you're not old."
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And I should have let him go on...smiling...babywide.