When I'M Eighty Five

When I’m eighty-five Once upon a time, when I was sixty-five my hair turned grey, bought hair dye. Blue rinsed looked like a stern teacher of the type of women doing good work among the poor. She said she loved me, remembered a song “when I’m sixty-five.” We are old, take our love for granted she calls me darling I call her sweetheart. I will sing you a song when I’m eighty-five full of cakes and ale. I bet someone will say, who was the Beetles?