1. Narrator
There's a few bobin your pocket
and you'vegot goodfriends,
and it seems that summer's never comingto an end
young,free and innocent,youhaven't gota care,
apart from decidin'on the clothes you'regonnawear.
The street's turnedinto paradise,
the radio's singing dreams
you'reinnocent, immortal, you'rejustfifteen.
Andwho'ddare tell the lambs in spring
whatfate the later seasonsbring
who'dtell the girl in the middle ofthe pair
the price she'll have topay for justbeing there.
Butleave them alone, let them goand play
they care not forwhat'sat the endof the day
forwhat is to come,for whatmight have been
life has noending whenyou're sweet sixteen
and yourfriends are with youto talk away the night
or until Mrs Wongswitchesoffthe chippy light
then there's always the corner
and the street lamp's glare
an' another hourtospend, with yourfriends, withher,
to share yourlast cigarette and yoursecret dream
at the midnight hour...
... Atseventeen
it's justanother ferry boat, a trip to the beach
buteverything's possible,
the world'swithin yourreach
an' youdon'teven noticethe broken bottles in the
sand
the oil in the water and youcan'tunderstand
how living could be anything other than a dream
whenyou're young,free andinnocent...
... Andjusteighteen.
Andonly if the three of them couldstay like that
forever,
and only if wecouldpredict no changesin the
weather
and only if wedidn't live in life, as well as dreams
and only if wecouldstop and be forever,
justeighteen.
Narrator
There's a few bobin your pocket
and you'vegot goodfriends,
and it seems that summer's never comingto an end
young,free and innocent,youhaven't gota care,
apart from decidin'on the clothes you'regonnawear.
The street's turnedinto paradise,
the radio's singing dreams
you'reinnocent, immortal, you'rejustfifteen.
Andwho'ddare tell the lambs in spring
whatfate the later seasonsbring
who'dtell the girl in the middle ofthe pair
the price she'll have topay for justbeing there.
Butleave them alone, let them goand play
they care not forwhat'sat the endof the day
forwhat is to come,for whatmight have been
life has noending whenyou're sweet sixteen
and yourfriends are with youto talk away the night
or until Mrs Wongswitchesoffthe chippy light
then there's always the corner
and the street lamp's glare
an' another hourtospend, with yourfriends, withher,
to share yourlast cigarette and yoursecret dream
at the midnight hour...
... Atseventeen
it's justanother ferry boat, a trip to the beach
buteverything's possible,
the world'swithin yourreach
an' youdon'teven noticethe broken bottles in the
sand
the oil in the water and youcan'tunderstand
how living could be anythingother than a dream
whenyou're young,free andinnocent...
... Andjusteighteen.
Andonly if the three of them couldstay like that
forever,
and only if wecouldpredict no changesin the
weather
and only if wedidn't live in life, as well as dreams
and only if wecouldstop and be forever,
justeighteen.
