Ce blues de 1928 qui pleure la mise au rebut des pauvres vieux n'a rien perdu de sa signification
à l'heure du jeunisme tous azimuts.
Bob Dylan lui consacre un chapitre dans son formidable Philosophie de la chanson moderne
(Fayard, illustré, 360 p., trad. Jean-Luc Piningre) et le met en lien avec une des paraboles cyniques
dont Charles Tatum [le vrai, celui de Ace in the Hole de Billy Wilder, 1951] a le secret.


When you walk along the street
How often times you'll meet
Some poor old man who's getting old and grey
His age is feeble spent
In his pockets not a cent
And for shelter he has nowhere to go
His relations by the score
They'll turn him from the door
They'll meet him on a street, they'll pass him by
If you ask them why they do
They'll answer you and say,
"He is poor, he's old, he's only in the way"

Now let us cheer them all
For they won't be with us long
Don't point at them because they're old and grey
For remember while you're young
Old age to you will come
And you'll be old and grey and only in the way

There was a time, I hear
When young was not so queer
But since that time there's been an awful change
Young men with strength and might
To the parents they would strike
Yes, it happens every day, that's nothing strange
They strike for fear of toil
Whose children they would spoil
And sure for death of times they do pray
For himself and faithful wife been toiling all their lives
To find they're old and only in the way