Parky his son and me
Parky his son and me we were like the three musketeers, what a team
We did the lot as one; chatted up the girls, got high, fell in a stream
For a laugh after a drunken binge we slid down a hill on a metal tray
We broke a few bones, no more musketeers, once legend now history

Once recovered went our separate ways, down our chosen pathway
Over the years we had gone mainstream, life was more than okay
After a while I wondered just what had become of Parky and his son?
Placed an add in the paper to bring us together for that big reunion

A few day later I got a call from Parky, we sorted a meet in a wine bar
I was early, I sat in the window gazed absently at each passing car
Time passed, I glanced at my watch, they were running a little late
Lifting my glass of red, I drank, went to lift food from a china plate

Caught sight of this classy car parking in the disabled parking bay
Out got these two guys, they looked familiar, the youngest did sway
I began to take notice at these two as they walked slowly toward the bar
They saw me and waved, they said I looked obtuse I was told soon after

In walked Parky and his son, he was 60 and his son was now just 44
I tried not to but I couldn’t stop staring at this guy who used to party
Both sets of limbs moved like a tap dancer in a never ending routine
We sat there transfixed, nobody else existed, I needed more red wine

This was my mate, the same age as me, how and what should I say?
He came to my rescue explaining, he had ‘Early onset Parkinson’s’, eh!
The floodgates opened, we talked for hours, my eyes filled with tears
Had we changed, time had maybe, but we’re still the three musketeers