Hurts to see you old, stubby and grey oh my dear friend, what more do we say 

we have lived our lives waiting for this day 
but now it's here we can't sing or play 
by old miller creek we used to sit and gaze 
our life was good, my god it was great
we lived all these years but this is our last day
so came to join hands, let us sit and pray

we have had our times, we have seen the signs 
like the thorn-bearing trees, the prickly old pines
a race to the top just to see who would drop 
changing by the minute like the seasonal crop.
in the mall or shop, for a bottle of pop 
like a steaming pot we would argue a lot

oh farewell my friend, for this is the end 
all our tales I must commend
I have this to say so a letter I send 
may all our issue with your passing be amend 
and now that you're gone and can no longer contend 
it seems I am victorious, my fair weathered friend
I may be old and gray, withered and short, 
bald and black or a pile of crap
but I'm still living you greasy old fart