When I was a young man courting the girls
but I played me a waiting game.

If a maid refused me with tossing curls
let Id the old earth take a couple of twirls

And Id ply her with tears instead of pearls

And as time came around, she came my way

As time came around, she came

its But a long, long while from may to december

And the days grow short when you reach september.

The autumn weather turns the leaves to flame

And I havent got the time for the waiting game.

Oh, the days dwindle down to precious few;

September, november.

And these few precious days Ill spend with you.

These precious days Ill spend with you.