Every Thursday a bunch of guys meet.
Most of them bring along some meat.
The grill is manned by Chef Ted.
He makes sure everyone is well fed.
Others bring delicious dessert.
You won't find any fat free yogurt.
As for green and yellow vegetables.
There's no room for that on the tables.
There's only one bloke.
That ever lights up a smoke.
As for drinks from barley or rye.
No one ever gives it a try.
Most of us in our younger years.
Drank plenty of booze and plenty of beers.
Some are suffering the ravages of time.
We talk of ailments, some are mine.
As the evening progresses.
We talk about humorous messes.
That formed who we are today.
Though not without some dismay.
A lot of us guys are very fond.
Of what creates this common bond.
Though we come from different walks of life.
Some had it easy, some dealt with strife.
We forget all that at the end of the driveway
Whether it'd frigid December or sunny May.
Over hot dogs, burgers and Diet Cokes.
We reminisce and repeat the same corny jokes.
Some of us have very sad losses.
Missing are their domestic bosses.
You can tell even the sunny skies.
Can't keep the mist from their cloudy eyes..
Yes, we are all pretty old and gray.
Except for those whose hair went away.
The weekly party keeps us out of the bars.
And reaffirms our love for our special cars.
Hot rods, muscle cars, a few like to race.
Many are laid bake, enjoying a slower pace.
This group tends to have cars that are fine.
Well, that is, except for mine.
The rich guys might not understand.
How I can march to a different band.
But we all treat each other well.
Realizing we are here for just a short spell.