When I am an old man I shall wear black br With a white cap which doesn’t go with my tidy clothes, and doesn't suit me. br And I shall spend my savings on puncheon rum and thick socks br And fake leather sandals, and say I have no money for doubles br I shall sit down at the corner when I can’t walk anymore br And walk through the mall sampling teriyaki bits and barbeque nibbles br And run my cane along the bumpy pavements br And make up for my early teetotaling ways. br I shall go barefoot in the rain br And pelt mangoes in other people’s yards br And learn to smoke old cigarette zoots. br br You can wear undersized merinos and a stubbly beard br And eat three dozen oysters in one go br Or one loaf of bread and cheese for a week br And hoard notebooks and free pens and coffee cups and things in bright boxes. br br But now we must have shirts and ties and new jackets br And pay our mortgages and watch our words in the papers br And be role models for a lost generation. br We must go for drives to the beach and listen to the news on radio. br br But maybe I should think of these things now? br So you will know me when I pass noisily on Frederick street br When suddenly I am old, and start to wear black.