When you meet the young men early in spring
They court you in song and rhyme.
They woo you with words and a clover ring,
But if you examine the goods they bring,
They've little to offer but the songs they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of day
A plentiful waste of time.

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 he was a young man courting the girls,
He played them a waiting game.
If a maid refused him with tossing curls,
He let the old earth take a couple of whirls,
While he plied her with tears in lieu of pearls.
And as time came around, she came his way.
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.