Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
Of the doom that is our fate.
That started when programmers used
Two digits for a date,
Two digits for a date.
RAM memory was smaller then;
Hard drives were tiny, too.
"Four digits are extravagent,
So let's get by with two.
So let's get by with two."
"This works through 1999,"
The programmers did say.
"Unless we write new code by then
The data goes away.
The data goes away."
But management had not a clue;
"It works fine now, you bet!
Rewriting code cost money,
We won't do it just yet.
We won't do it just yet."
Now when 2000 rolls around
It all goes straight to hell,
For zero's less than ninety-nine,
As anyone can tell.
As anyone can tell.
The mail won't bring your pension check;
It won't be sent to you
When you're no longer sixty-eight
But minus thirty-two.
But minus thirty-two.
The problems we're about to face
Are frightening, for sure.
And reading every line of code's
The only certain cure.
The only certain cure.
[key change, the big finish coming]
There's not much time, there's too much code,
And COBOL-coders, few.
When the century is finished,