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 stair With all that
perfumed hair And it came undone When I
was twenty-one When I was thirty-five It was
a very good year It was a very
good year for blue-blooded girls Of independent means
We'd ride in limousines Their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five But now the days
grow short I'm in the autumn of the
year 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 It was a mess of good years
Sign in to add a comment. Reporting stays open to everyone.