Tekster: John Michael Mongomery. Letters From Home. Cool.

He really liked flannel with big bore arms.
If you looked in his closet, it was all that you saw.
He'd dress up on Sunday; a body looked neat,
In a green leisure suit with wing tips on his feet.

An' I hated the music he played in the car,
It was hard to believe he called those people stars.
They'd sing through their noses like they all had colds.
I guess it's hard to be cool when you're forty years old.

An' I was fifteen and real hip with long hair,
An' I'd ask my Momma: "Why's Daddy so square?"
An' I couldn't believe all that he didn't know.
I guess it's hard to be cool when you're forty years old.

The night I turned twenty, she came with the news:
Scared half to death, an' didn't know what to do.
I told her: "I'm sorry, but it's not too late.
"There's a doctor I've heard of who fixes mistakes."

An' I thought he was workin', an' I was alone,
But he was standin' behind me when I hung up the 'phone.
He said: "Son, there's a few things you don't know about.
"If you listen real close, we can figure this out."

"'Cause I was eighteen and as wild as they came,
"When one night, a young girl told me the same thing.
"An' you wouldn't be here if she hadn't said no:
"You see, it's hard to be cool when you're twenty years old."

These days I like flannel an' old Levi jeans.
An' I look at my young boy, who just turned fifteen.
An' I know what he's thinkin', but it's o.k., you know.
You see it's hard to be cool when you're fifteen years old.