According to the songwriter:

I’m painfully aware of how many songs there are about how much a woman loves a man. There simply aren’t enough songs about the middle-aged man who babysat you once and thought it was grand for you to stay up watching Videodrome. The guy who used to sit in your kitchen smoking fags and telling your mother how much of a legend your dad was the time they went to Lanzarote, but he can still beat him at arm wrestling.

…

I’ve been told that it is a withering portrait of narcissistic self-deception by a man who so thoroughly believes his own lies that his impending existentialist crisis, brought on by post-recession financial devastation and ever diminishing youth, will only force him further down the path of increasingly aggressive assertion of his self worth. But you could say that kind of thing about any song.