[PETER STUYVESANT]
Oh, it's a long long while
From May 'til December
And 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

For 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 you meet with a young man early in spring
They court you in song and rhyme
They woo with songs 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
And a plentiful waste of time
But it's a long long while
From May 'til December
When the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
For 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