200 Years Old

I was sittin' in a breakfast room in Allentown, Pennsylvania, six o'clock in the morning, got up too early, it was a terrible mistake... sittin' there face-to-face with a 75 cent glass of orange juice about as big as my finger and a bowl of horribly foreshortened cornflakes, and I said to myself: "This is the life!" . . . She's two hundred years old So mean she couldn't grow no lips Boy, she'd be in trouble if she Tried to grow a mustache She's two hundred years old Squattin' down & pockin' up In front of the juke box Like she had true religion, boy Like she had true religion She's two hundred years old Hoy hoy, 200 years old Half of this, none of that, One-fifty oh squattin' Yeah-ah, ain't she got Religion now, boy