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

The pickings are poor and the crop is lean

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