A gathering of teenagers
Dance across the floor.
A laughing bunch of rampagers
Who scream and sing and roar
With every beat, they all repeat
The lyrics of the songs.
Their hearts replete with rhythmic beat.
I look upon the throngs.

Of balding men in rolled up jeans
Their bellies hanging out
And poodle skirts on ex-prom queens
Who suffer from the gout

Who’ll always be, inside their soul,
Kids when they hear old Rock and Roll.