"Oh, John," said she, "I quite agree That you could do with a woman, But if you think I'll be your shrink, You've got another think coming. Consider, besides, if I was your bride, In forty years, I would have no fun, For I'm no more than twenty-four And you are forty-one!
"Oh, yes, I know I'll miss your eyes and your kiss And your fingers running through my hair, But if I lost my head in St. Kevin's bed, I got it back in the clear French air! I got off that jet and my parents I met And I got my act together. I saw the line they'd draw at a son-in-law Who was a middle-aged Irish header."