I used to be young and frisky,
my body glowed from passion.
Even now that I'm old and wrinkly,
I still don’t act old-fashioned.

But there’s a limit to what I can hide,
I’m not quite as firm as before.
No longer can I do it on my side,
because my stomach falls onto the floor.

My breasts used to be high on my chest,
nipples pointing up to the sky.
Now my guy does confess,
he finds them down by my thighs.

There’s another thing that spoils the fun,
and makes me even madder.
No matter where he puts his gun,
there’s pressure on my bladder.

There are other things that aren’t the same,
when age starts taking its toll.
Sometimes when I scream out his name,
my denture goes out of control.

Sex after fifty is still pretty great,
putting all complications aside.
Not quite like the old hot dates,
It’s more like a Sunday drive.