Even at twenty they knew, they knew, they knew

Boz isn't the first nickname I've had.
I was called Whitey when I was a kid because my hair was so blonde, and I was called Nat after Nat King Cole.
But the nickname that really stuck was given to me by a guy who sat next to me at work when I was stationed on Crete.
He said I reminded him of Lather from the Jefferson Airplane song of the same name.
Right click and open in new window to hear Lather by the Jefferson Airplane.

Lather
Jefferson Airplane

Lather was thirty years old today,
They took away all of his toys.
His mother sent newspaper clippings to him,
About his old friends who'd stopped being boys.
There was Howard E. Green, just turned thirty-three,
His leather chair waits at the bank.
And Seargent Dow Jones, twenty-seven years old,
Commanding his very own tank.
But Lather still finds it a nice thing to do,
To lie about nude in the sand,
Drawing pictures of mountains that look like bumps,
And thrashing the air with his hands.

But wait, oh Lather's productive you know,
He produces the finest of sound,
Putting drumsticks on either side of his nose,
Snorting the best licks in town,
But that's all over...

Lather was thirty years old today,
And Lather came foam from his tongue.
He looked at me eyes wide and plainly said,
Is it true that I'm no longer young?
And the children call him famous,
what the old men call insane,
And sometimes he's so nameless,
That he hardly knows which game to play...
Which words to say...
And I should have told him, "No, you're not old."
And I should have let him go on...smiling...babywide.