Lyrics

He is cranky

He’s bald and orange

He bought Chatter,

Now his money’s gone

He is lucid, but not for long

His future is in a home



He is a grumpy

Old plutocrat

Please send him

A big box of the that

He is upright but not for long

Tell Michael to dig a hole…



Ninety-three years since your pen’s hit a page

But your anxiety’s engraved, and your senility’s plain

Pockets used to be fatter, but you lost it all after

You went shopping for deck shoes, and then came home with Chatter

Soon you will find yourself, in a home up in Ingleside

In a suit and tie, singing hymns or having Bingo night

Picture you as you knit a few scarves with Gertrude

Then switch at noon to canasta with Ethel and June

And watch a flick or two from Hallmark on the picture tube

Yeah, it’s a pill that’s blue, but it’all good, you’ll kick it soon

Or picture you, squawking, down around the Browseabout

You grouse aloud in a tin can about bad copy

Raving to no one but one unsuspecting patron

But take heart cause PTI has become amazing

Ratings, through the roof since the minute you left

They’re saying, it’s the Pablo Torre Effect