Don’t Say the ‘F’ Word

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
Whose name dares not be mentioned.
It’s rounded sounds
Are out of bounds,
However well-intentioned.

That awful word
Is often heard
‘Twixt Tennessee and Tonga,
But we won’t say
It here today –
You’re “Thirty-Nine No Longer.”

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
But don’t get hot and flustered.
Like vintage wine,
You’re ageing fine,
And still can cut the mustard.

You can’t deny
The sun or sky.
Complaining would be wronger.
You’re in the pink,
So have a drink,
You’re thirty-nine no longer.

The thirty nine,
A bus divine,
Goes all the way to Ongar,
But Finglas men
Enjoy the splen-
-Did thirty nine no longer.

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
No point in getting shirty.
It’s all a game,
You felt the same
The day that you turned thirty.

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
Be sensible and thrifty?
Don’t look so sad,
It’s not as bad
As nearly turning fifty.

Ignore the mockers,
And the knockers,
This will make you stronger.
You’ve wisdom, health
Great beauty, wealth
At thirty-nine no longer.

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
But what’s the point precisely?
Who needs a cure?
We think that you’re
Maturing very nicely.

Bars of steel
May well be real –
Ask any ironmonger -
But middle age
Is not a cage,
When thirty nine no longer.

Oh no, oh no,
The big four-oh,
Ignore the squalid peasants!
For Goodness sake,
Enjoy your cake
And open all your presents!

Go celebrate
The march of fate,
And let’s all do the conga.
Let’s see some grins,
For life begins
When thirty nine no longer