| When I was seventeen it was a very good year
|
| It was a very good year for small town girls and soft summer nights
|
| We’d hide from the lights on the village green
|
| When I was seventeen
|
| When I was twenty-one it was a very good year
|
| It was a very good year for city girls who lived up the stairs
|
| With all that perfumed hair and it came undone
|
| When I was twenty-one
|
| Then I was thirty-five it was a very good year
|
| It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls of independent means
|
| Who’d ride in limousines and their chauffeurs would drive
|
| When I was thirty-five
|
| When I was fifty-three it was a wonderful year
|
| It was a wonderful year to find the girl I’d call my own
|
| A place where I belong and she’d love only me
|
| When I was fifty-three
|
| But now the days grow short, I’m in the autumn of my years
|
| And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs
|
| From the brim to the dregs, and it poured sweet and clear
|
| It was a very good year |