You are old, Mr. Southern

YOU ARE OLD, MR SOUTHERN

"You are old, Mr Southern," the recruiter said, "And your hair has become very grey: There’s naught but rejection and misery ahead,

Why don’t you just call it a day?”

"In my youth," Mister Southern replied to the man, "I was dope, I was edgy and brave:

But I spent all my cash with such carefree élan,

That now I must work till the grave.”

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown uncommonly rude: You seem to be bitter right down to your core— Pray, tell me now, what’s with the ‘tude? "In my youth," said the old man, and shook his grey locks, "I did find myself much in demand:”

But now I am old, there’s a dip in my stocks,

And I’m always the first to be canned.” "You are old," said the youth, "and your mind is too weak To come up with clever campaigns:

You are costly and past it, your prospects are bleak,

And your brain is fucked up by cocaine.” "In my youth," said the old man, "I did the odd gram,

And found that it helped with my thinking:

But now that you bastards don’t pay worth a damn,

I guess I’ll just stick to the drinking.”

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose That you still have the passion and hunger:

Yet you keep on persisting with poems and prose,

To take gigs from those who are younger.” "In my youth,” said the old man, “I never once thought,

I’d be fifty and out on my ear:

But now that my savings have got close to nought,

Could you lend me five bucks for a beer?”

Based on Lewis Carroll’s ‘You are old, Father William.