His vinyl jeans so tight that they
Muffin top his belly,
He thinks he’s a weird emo kid,
Folks think he’s old and smelly.
We know his real name is Eugene,
But Eugene’s have no fun,
Combined a cat’s and porn star’s names,
And now he’s Trikki Gunns.
The 80s already happened,
Time to update his look,
Got him some green extensions,
Wrote songs with grungy hooks.
He saw Marilyn Manson,
The white contacts he wears,
First thing next morning he ran out,
And he got himself a pair.
Now he caught up with the cool kids,
He’s looking lean and mean,
Somewhere near 1999,
Though it’s 2015.
No club in town that you could say,
His band didn’t play there,
The crowds are getting thinner,
Much like his graying his hair.
In his mind he’s a heartbreaker,
A rebel, he’s the bomb,
Taking the ladies to the home,
That he shares with his mom.
For though they’re few and far between,
He manages to score,
He says it’s just a place to lay
His head in between tours.
And thinks of that old song he knew,
Wonders if it’s a lie,
Can you be too old to rock n roll,
If you’re too young to die?