I’m just too old to cut the mustard anymore.
My slow leaking ticker has a click and a clack.
Don’t know which pain’s worse, my feet or my back.
My liver sticks, and my left lung’s slack.
I’m too old to cut the mustard anymore.

My girl, she wants to get frisky.
No way! Not with this bum ticker.
It’s just too risky
I use to cut the mustard good and fast
Now I sit and think about the past,
and how the good things never last.
Too old to cut the mustard anymore.

It’s not so bad on me, but my girlfriend’s mighty sore.
She wants to dance; wants to go steppin’ out;
Don’t she know I can’t go—I done got the gout.
It’s a battle cause she’s kinda big and sorta stout.
I’m just too old to cut the mustard anymore.

My girl Big’un; she wants to wallow in the floor.
I tell her I’m too durn old, and too durn sore.
I believe she knows the score.
I don’t get it down; cause I can’t get it up, anymore!
I’m just too old to cut the mustard anymore.

Yes my girl is a brick house for shore.
But I’m too old to open the door.
Cause I’m too old to cut the mustard anymore.

One day…
The pretty girls will wrestle in the mud.
They’ll try and wave you in.
Nope, your hips a steel pin.
And your blood is way to thin.
You’ll be too old to cut the mustard anymore.

Listen to me, if you like to score.
Trust me; this is what’s in store.
One day…you’ll be too old to cut the mustard anymore.

© Edward Hurst