| Poor boy! |
| Poor boy!
|
| Down-hearted and depressed and in a spin
|
| Poor boy! |
| Poor boy!
|
| Oh, youth can really do a fellow in!
|
| How lovely to sit here in the shade
|
| With none of the woes of man and maid
|
| I’m glad I’m not young anymore
|
| The rivals that don’t exist at all
|
| The feeling you’re only two feet tall
|
| I’m glad that I’m not young anymore
|
| No more confusion
|
| No morning-after surprise
|
| No self-delusion
|
| That when you’re telling those lies
|
| She isn’t wise
|
| And even if love comes through the door
|
| The chance that goes on forevermore
|
| Forevermore is shorter than before
|
| Oh, I’m so glad that I’m not young anymore
|
| The tiny remark that tortures you
|
| The fear that your friends won’t like her too
|
| I’m glad I’m not young anymore
|
| The longing to end the stale affair
|
| Until you find out she doesn’t care
|
| I’m glad that I’m not young anymore
|
| No more frustration
|
| No star-crossed lover am I
|
| No aggravation
|
| Just one reluctant reply
|
| «Lady, goodbye!»
|
| The Fountain of Youth is dull as paint
|
| Methuselah is my patron saint
|
| I’ve never been so comfortable before
|
| Oh, I’m so glad that I’m not young anymore |