About your mouth are your fine lines and wrinkles.
Your hair looks like spider’s silk,
Having your whole life
Away from you.
You don’t have time
To burn like then
When you spent your day
Snogging boys and
Backcombing your hair,
Your skin itching.
With a lovely body, life was agreeable,
And you didn't have
A care in the world.
Now, your life is
Half and a quarter over.
You've been there, done that.
You have dances with drum solos
And the arrival
Of unisex hairdressers
Off pat.
You are up at the top of the hill,
And over the other side again.
But you've earned it.
You take a lot of things
To the dry cleaners,
Have to have your roots done
Every four weeks,
And find it hard
To wear high heels.
And guess what?
Well, I just can't keep a secret.
OK, just read my thoughts.
You still fancy people,
Still have childish little crushes on people
At work, still—shock, horror—have sex, Baby Girl!
