{spoken intro: Here's an awfully pretty folk song.}
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
Then 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
