My old lady died of a common cold. 
She smoked cigars and was ninety years old. 
She was thin as paper with the ribs of a kite, 
And she flew out the kitchen door one night. 

Now I'm no younger'n the old lady was, 
When she lost gravitation, and I smoke cigars. 
I feel sort of peaked, an' I look kinda pore, 
So for God's sake, lock that kitchen door!