suggests the colour
It fits well with my son's birthday.
My son, Greg, is 'in the pink',
Simply teetering on the brink
Of middle-age, he's sad to say;
His fortieth birthday is today!
But I recall times long ago
When I, his mother, worried so.
Surely he'd go right off the rails
Like all the other reckless males!
He'd drink too much and kill his liver!
The thought of it made Mother shiver!
He'd drive too fast and crash his car!
Well, you know what these 'P-Platers' are!
He'd meet some floosie and do his dash!
He'd probably give her all his cash!
He'd take to drugs and cook his brain!
He'd throw himself beneath a train!
He'd take exams and always fail!
He'd certainly end up in jail!
As for his music, it was clear
A mother had a right to fear!
Pink Floyd! The lyrics that extolled
Young men to be all wild and bold!
Saying 'Go to Hell, you teachers!
You are unimportant creatures!
We wont be bricks in any wall!
We are great and you are small!'
It was clear a revolution
Was presently in execution!
What power had I to stem the tide?
I simply hung my head and sighed.
My son was destined for disaster,
And Pink Floyd would be his master!
Yet he came through it all at last.
The years between have gone so fast,
And now he's upright and mature,
A model citizen, that's for sure.
Husband, father, a teacher too!
(Something I never thought he'd do!)
So, if your son is on the skids,
Hanging-out with the other kids,
Singing lyrics that make you squirm,
Rejecting school from term to term,
Piercing his nose and other places,
Having tattoos on arms and faces,
Never ponder, never fear.
It'll be O.K this time next year.
Well, maybe not as soon as that
But he wont forever be a brat!
Then you'll lie sleepless in your bed
Worrying about his sons instead!!