The Prune Song

(No Matter How Young a Prune May Be It’s Always Fill of Wrinkles)
A popular song from 1928
Words by Frank Crumit
Music by Harry De Costa


The sheet music:


Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:


Lyrics

  1. Nowadays we often gaze
    On women over fifty
    Without the slightest trace
    Of wrinkles on their face
    Doctors go and take their dough
    To make them young and nifty
    But Doctors I defy
    To tell me just why

Chorus:
No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
We may get them on our face
Prunes get them every place
Prohibition bothers us
But prunes don’t sit and brood
No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always getting stewed

  1. In the “kingdom of the fruits”
    The prune is snubbed by others
    And they are not allowed
    To mingle with the crowd
    Though they’re never on display
    With all their “High-brow” brothers
    They never seem to mind
    To this fact they’re resigned

Chorus:
That no matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
Beauty treatments always fail
They’ve tried all to no avail
Other fruits are envious
Because they know real well
No matter how young a prune may be
Hot water makes them swell

Extra choruses:

No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
We may get them here and there
Prunes get them everywhere
Babies fret until they hear
A Mother’s lullaby
No matter how young a prune may be
You’ll never hear it cry

No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
Old maids get them on their face
Prunes get them every place
Peaches ad bananas have
That skin you love to touch
No matter how young a prune may be
It don’t amount to much

No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
Years may go and years may come
Prunes still remain so dumb
Though they never dissipate
Their life is very weird
No matter how old a prune may be
It never grows a beard

No matter how young a prune may be
It’s always full of wrinkles
Like the Irish it is true
They stick together too
Other fruits won’t talk to them
They think they are freaks
No matter how young a prune may be
They don’t have rosy cheeks


Sung by Laurence Rubenstein: