When I was a young man courting the
girls, I played me a waiting game; If a maid refused me with tossing
curls, I let the old earth take a couple of
whirls, While I plied her with tears in lieu
of pearls And as time came around she came.
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 And these few
precious days I’ll spend with you These precious
days I’ll spend with you
When you meet with the young men early in spring,
They court you in song and rhyme,
They woo you with words and a clever ring,
But if you examine the goods they bring,
They have little to offer but the songs they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of, a plentiful waste of time.
Chorus
