Overdue For Shooting

I realise I’m overdue for shooting
And clearly all the blame for this is mine
I have said “If I do this or that just shoot me,”
And now I’m doing those things all the time.

All this is on account of getting older,
And all those things go with a certain age,
Like wearing comfy shoes and baggy trousers
In shades of boring camouflage and beige.

I’ve started to prefer an early bed time
To going out and partying all night,
And now I’m leaving politics to youngsters
With energy to fight the righteous fight.

No longer can I cope with the discomfort
Of camping under canvas on the grass,
A caravan now gives the best protection
For painful knees and hips and back and ass.

Sometimes I nearly catch myself complaining
But stop, for then I’d have to shoot myself,
And I have to work so hard not to start whinging
About my being past it and my health.

I often used to say “You have to shoot me
If ever I get bigger than size eight,”
But now that I’m a saggy bat with wrinkles
I wear loose clothes to hide my overweight.

My salvation is my husband’s getting older
Any he’s no longer sharp or eagle eyed,
So even if he did decide to shoot me
I don’t think he could hit me if he tried!