When I'm sixty-four

When I get older, losing my hair many years from now,
will you still be sending me a valentine,
birthday greetings, bottle of wine?
If I'd been out til quarter to three would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh, ooh-ho, ooh-hoo-hoo,
you'll be older too...!
Aaaah-haaaa, and if you say the word,
I could stay with you!

I could be handy mending a fuse, when your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside,
sunday mornings, go for a ride.
Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?

Every summer we could rent a cottage in the Isle of White,
if it's not too dear.
We shall skrimp and save...!
Aaaah-haaaa, grandchildren at your knees:
Vera, Chuck, and Dave!

Send me a postcard, drop me a line, stating point of view.
Indicate precisely what you mean to say,
yours sincerely, wasting away.
Give me an answer, fill in a form, mine forevermore.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?