I only woke this morning
To find the world is fair
Im going on for forty,
With scarcely one grey hair;
Im going on for forty,
Where mans strong life begins,
With scarce a sign of crows feet,
In spite of all my sins.
Then heres the living Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then heres the living Forties!
Were good for ten years more.
The teens were black and bitter,
A smothered boyhoods grave
A farm-drudge in the drought-time,
A weary workshop slave.
But twenty years have laid them,
And all the world is fair
Well find time in the Forties,
To have some boyhood there.
Then heres the wide, free Forties
The Forties! The Forties!
Then heres the wide, free Forties!
Were good for ten years more!
The twenties they were noble,
The bravest years, I think;
Twas man to man in trouble,
In working and in drink;
Twas man to man in fighting,
For money or for praise.
And well find in the Forties
Some more Bohemian days.
Then heres the wiser Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
Then heres the wiser Forties!
Were good for ten years more.
The thirties were the fate years;
I fought behind the scenes.
The thirties were more cruel
And blacker than the teens;
I held them not but bore them
They were no years of mine;
But they are going from me,
For I am thirty-nine.
So heres the stronger Forties!
The Forties! The Forties!
And heres the good old Forties!
Were good for ten years more.