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 light 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 stairs 
With perfume hair that 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