It Was A Very Good Year

Frank Sinatra

{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



It was a mess of good years
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