September Song 
Kurt Weil, Maxwell Anderson

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