Running Man

My father's decided to run him a marathon
I just run in the figurative sense
I run a few errands, I've run out of gas
I frequently run out of patience

I used to run a fair five minute mile,
now a mile seems further away
now if you ask for a couple of situps,
I'm just about done for the day.

I'm aging, I'm aging, I'm aging
I can feel my decline by the day
he's got his own private fountain of youth
he's aging the other way

Now when I go with him through hill and field
in the woods near our neighboring town
I feel like a kid again, holding his hand, saying
"daddy, will you please slow down?"

he's not content with a walk in the mall
with a fishing cap perched on his head
he keeps on running once he hits the wall
If I were him, I would be dead

I'd go out with him, but every time
I just talk of my own aches and pains
he must get sick of my moaning and whining
but if it bugs him, he doesn't complain

by a freak twist of fate, for the first time in my life
I recently saw my dad nude
and it's just as I thought and as I expected
the old man's a pretty buff dude

My hair's falling out, my joints are all sore
my memories won't do as they're told
I reminisce about my good old days
it sure is a bitch to get old

I listen only to Gershwin and Porter
his rock and roll is my chagrin
he is my father, for cryin' out loud
why am I older than him?