There's testosterone in the air tonight
My teenage son is spoiling for a fight
He relentlessly practices with his fists
Goading me and poking me, he never quits
In socks or trainers he measures up
The endless tale of the old dog and the young pup
With youth and vigour, optimism and cheek
He probes my guard telling me I'm fat and weak
And when we struggle and grip
When my back aches and my muscles rip
With teeth bared I grimly hang on
Praying for him to give up because my strength has gone
On day soon he'll beat my best
I'll strain and struggle and there will be no rest
He will turn in triumph with an evil grin
And stuff me in the wheelie bin