When I get older losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine?

If I’d been out till quarter to three, would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?

Oooh, you’ll be older too. And if you say the word, I could stay with you. I could be handy mending a fuse when your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside; Sunday mornings go for a ride

Doing the garden, digging the weeds, who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?

Beatles