your beards smell of tobacco and sick
and your saggy old arse dirty jeans smell of wee and poo.

that old folk music of yours smells like a sack of festering cat diarrhea.

Its summer now, get your sounds sorted grandad and learn some Lady Gaga songs.

and no, I don't want Sunday dinner at your horrible favourite pensioners pub.

I want to see my friends and set fire to old cars under the railway bridge.