Sow Your Wild Oats In Your Youth, So We're Always Told; But I Say With Deeper Sooth: "Sow Them When You're Old." I'll Be Wise Till I'm About Seventy Or So: Then, By Gad! I'll Blossom Out As An Ancient Beau. I'll Assume A Dashing Air, Laugh With Loud Ha! Ha! . . . How My Grandchildren Will Stare At Their Grandpapa! Their Perfection Aureoled I Will Scandalize: Won't I Be A Hoary Old Sinner In Their Eyes! Watch Me, How I'll Learn To Chaff Barmaids In A Bar; Scotches Daily, Gayly Quaff, Puff A Fierce Cigar. I Will Haunt The Tango Teas, At The Stage-Door Stand; Wait For Dolly Dimpleknees, Bouquet In My Hand. Then At Seventy I'll Take Flutters At Roulette; While At Eighty Hope I'll Make Good At Poker Yet; And In Fashionable Togs To The Races Go, Gayest Of The Gay Old Dogs, Ninety Years Or So. "Sow Your Wild Oats While You're Young," That's What You Are Told; Don't Believe The Foolish Tongue - Sow 'Em When You're Old. Till You're Threescore Years And Ten, Take My Humble Tip, Sow Your Nice Tame Oats And Then . . . Hi, Boys! Let 'Er Rip.