Ask me When You're older

Ask Me When You're Older

When I was quite young and I asked my mum,
Those questions that made her go red,
She'd say "oh my love, good heavens above,
Go ask your father instead".

Like some mystical sage from behind the sports page,
He'd rest his great hand on my shoulder,
And say "son don't worry it's quite a long story,
Ask me again when you're older".

I feel that it's time, as I'm now twenty-nine.
To ask without fear of rejection,
My predominant fear after all of these years,
Is I've gone and forgotten the question.