My life has been an open book, really. Everybody knows everything about me.
I'll be dead by the time I'm forty.
All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand. But you turned into a lover, and mother what a lover, you wore me out.
I'm very proud of my well-earned wrinkles, so show 'em.
You're like a cold beer, darling, on a long hot summer night.
What I do now is all my dad's fault, because he bought me a guitar as a boy, for no apparent reason.