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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
I started with the premise that if the good die young, then logically only the bastards are left to grow old. A friend said it was sexist as women should also be included but the strict definition of a "bastard" is a fatherless child, so I believe I am being all inclusive. Besides, "bitch" would break the flow of the rhyme and the thing with this piece is that it is all about the lyric rhythm, trying to make it come out a bit like a drum beat in words.

As for the content itself, it is not meant too seriously. I hope it brings a smile to your face.

Submitted: October 09, 2019

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Submitted: October 09, 2019



I must have been a bastard
to have got to live this long
I must have of been an arsehole
to have lived to pen this song.

“Change your ways” they cried at me
And told me I was wrong
But I must be doing something right
To get to live this long.

If ignorance is bliss
And ravage totally wrong
then why oh why, please tell me
Have I got to live this long?

They sing to me from mountain tops
Of the Lord’s abiding grace
But when I look around the world
I see the human race.

And staring into an anxious sky
On tortoise shell polished nights
I can not see the peace of god
For the glaze of satellites.

So I settle for some space debris
As my ultimate human right
Become a hardened bastard
And get on with my life

You can crucify, vilify
Scream at me I am wrong.
Disparage me and slander me,
Interrupt my warbled song

You can tell me in a thousand ways
The ten thousand ways I am wrong
But I must of be doing something right
To have got to live this long
I must of been a bastard
To get to sing this song

Past and future are unresolved fears
That are contemplated best at ease
Its that hard pricked bitch called here and now
that brings us to our knees

So you can make faces at my window
On dark and stormy nights
Send dead flowers to my graveside
When I pass beyond the light

But don’t tell me of my sainted acts
Don’t award me for my grace
Don’t help me for the sake of it
Feel free to hesitate
For if the good all die young
Then the old are surely wrong
And you’d have to be a bastard
Just to want to get along.

You’d have to be a bastard
Just to get to live this long

© Copyright 2019 Paul R. All rights reserved.

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