A Bachelor Gay
A bachelor gay am I, though I suffer from Cupid's dart
But never I vow will I say die in spite of an aching heart
For a man who has loved a girl or two though the fact must be confessed
He always swears the whole way through
To every girl he tries to woo
That he loves her far the best:
At seventeen he falls in love quite madly with eyes of tender blue
At twenty-four he gets it rather badly with eyes of a different hue
At thirty-five, you'll find him flirting sadly with two or three or more
When he fancies he is past love
It is then he meets his last love
And he loves her as he's never loved before.
A girl as you've heard of old, is a kind of a paradox
She changes her mind more times I'm told than ever she does her frocks.
And a man's like a moth around a flame for it's nearly always found
He burns his wings but all the same
The nicest part of Cupid's game
Is fluttering round and round:
At seventeen he falls in love quite madly with eyes of tender blue
At twenty-four he gets it rather badly with eyes of a different hue
At thirty-five, you'll find him flirting sadly with two or three or more
When he fancies he is past love
It is then he meets his last love
And he loves her as he's never loved before.
But never I vow will I say die in spite of an aching heart
For a man who has loved a girl or two though the fact must be confessed
He always swears the whole way through
To every girl he tries to woo
That he loves her far the best:
At seventeen he falls in love quite madly with eyes of tender blue
At twenty-four he gets it rather badly with eyes of a different hue
At thirty-five, you'll find him flirting sadly with two or three or more
When he fancies he is past love
It is then he meets his last love
And he loves her as he's never loved before.
A girl as you've heard of old, is a kind of a paradox
She changes her mind more times I'm told than ever she does her frocks.
And a man's like a moth around a flame for it's nearly always found
He burns his wings but all the same
The nicest part of Cupid's game
Is fluttering round and round:
At seventeen he falls in love quite madly with eyes of tender blue
At twenty-four he gets it rather badly with eyes of a different hue
At thirty-five, you'll find him flirting sadly with two or three or more
When he fancies he is past love
It is then he meets his last love
And he loves her as he's never loved before.