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It isn't by chance I happen to be,
The belle of the ball, the toast of Paris.
For over the noise, the talk and the smoke,
I'm good for a laugh, a drink or a joke
I walk in a room, a party or ball,
"Come sit over here" somebody will call.
"A drink for my friend, a drink for us all!
But how many times I stop and recall.

Ah, the apple trees,
Blossoms in the breeze,
That we walked among,
Lying in the hay,
Games we used to play,
While the rounds were sung,
Only yesterday, when the world was young.

Wherever I go they mention my name,
And that in itself, is some sort of fame,
"Come by for a drink, we're having a game,"
Wherever I go I'm glad that I came.
The talk is quite gay, the company fine,
There's laughter and lights, and glamour and wine,
And debonair men and some of them mine,
But often my eyes see a diff'rent shine.

Ah, the apple trees,
Sunlit memories,
Where the hammock swung,
On our backs we'd lie,
Looking at the sky,
Till the stars were strung,
Only last July,
Only last July, when the world was young.

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