| Oh, it’s a long long while from May to December
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| But the days grow short when you reach September
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| When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
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| And you ain’t got time for waiting game
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| When days dwindle down to a precious few
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| September November
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| And these few golden days I’d share with you
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| Those golden days I share with you
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| When you meet with the young girls early in the Spring
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| You court them in song and rhyme
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| They answer with words and a clover ring
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| But if you could examine the goods they bring
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| They have little to offer but the songs they sing
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| And the plentiful waste of time of day
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| A plentiful waste of time
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| Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December
|
| But the days grow short when you reach September
|
| When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
|
| One hasn’t got time for the waiting game
|
| Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
|
| September, November
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| And these few precious days I’ll spend with you
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| These precious days I’ll spend with you |