There's pads that you find on a puppy dog's feet

There's pads that are cushions on your three-piece suite

There's pads that you write on sheet after sheet

To these though I now have to add

My fucking incontinence pad.

 

When younger my dotage I thought through and planned

I knew that my hour glass would one day lose sand

And that, for example, my waist would expand

But what never occurred to that lad

Was having to wear a piss pad.

 

I held the “school record” for twenty-odd years

And needed a piss only once after beers

I savour those memories now destiny nears

But recollect words of my dad

“One day, son, you'll wear a pad”

 

I fully expected to fall prey to chills

And likewise anticipate living on pills

I'm resigned to the fact that my prick yields no thrills

But the facet that makes me most sad's

This fucking incontinence pad.

 

Cos precision's long gone and the pressure is weak

Protection's now needed for untimely leaks

And to compound this I find skid mark streaks

So where did he go that young lad

Who now wears incontinence pads?

 

These days after having a romantic date

There's nothing that makes a girl's ardour deflate

Quicker than proof of your unruly prostate

Which turns your slim prospects bad

- The sight of a discoloured pad.

 

So you young uns make merry and guzzle your beer

And piss like a donkey with never a fear

But know what awaits you in your future years

You'll look back on the these days when you had

No need of incontinence pads.