There's a little old man lives down our street;
Stands six foot two in his stockinged feet
There's a funny old woman lives next door;
She's written seven novels and a book about the war
Now little's a term that's pretty loose
And funny's getting close to abuse
They ain't little or funny, so ain't we bold
To patronise them 'cos they're old?
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Get up off your seat
Show some respect, stand up young man
Get up, get on your feet
Don't make no weak excuses
Just keep those pensions high
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Poke you in the eye!
Rise up!
Now Arthur Davis, he lived alone
In a proud and independent home
They found him lying on his bedroom floor
His dignity thrown out the door
Well, he didn't know why he felt so weak
And he dribbled when he tried to speak
They said, "You're lucky to be alive"
And treated him like he was five
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Get up off your seat
Show some respect, stand up young man
Get up, get on your feet
Don't make no weak excuses
Just keep those pensions high
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Poke you in the eye!
Rise up!
Rise up!
It's seems the misconception's rife:
The old don't need a proper life;
And when you're old you just don't care;
Your brains all fall out with your hair
Oh, now, please don't think I'd dream
Of saying anything too extreme;
But I hope when I reach 83
I get a bit more than sympathy!
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Get up off your seat
Show some respect, stand up young man
Get up, get on your feet
Don't make no weak excuses
Just keep those pensions high
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Poke you in the eye!
Rise up before the hoary-headed
Poke you in the eye!
Rise up!