You marched away and left this town
As empty as can be
I can't sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but me
For there is no secret lover
That the draft board didn't discover

They're either too young or too old
They're either too grey or too grassy green
The pickings are poor and the crop is lean
What's good is in the army
What's left will never harm me
I'm either their first breath of spring
Or I'm their last little fling
I must confess to one romance
I(m sure you will allow
He tries to serenade me
But his voice is changing now
I'm finding it easy to stay good as gold
They're either too young or too old
I'll never ever fail ya, when you are in Australia
And flying over Egypt, your heart will never by gypped
And when you get to India, I'll still be what I've been to ya
I've looked the field over, and lo and behold!
They're either too young or too old