Wasted on the young


Oh how my son can I make you see the error of your ways,
You think all men past 40 have surely had their days,
And as for women they are not worth a glance,
You give them no time when you preen and prance, 
You think your god's gift to all you think that matter, 
But my son it takes a lot more than clever patter,
You need to be charming; quick witted; and funny,
Not just a flash git, with a pocket full of money,
You must show respect and be gracious in defeat,
Don’t sulk and ridicule because they don’t kiss your feet,
Don’t drink to excess; so that you mumble and stumble, 
The female gender can make a drunken boy feel terribly humble, 
And when it comes time to depart, 
Don’t I repeat don’t go home with 
The tart?