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 are 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, it poured sweet and clear.
It was a very good year.