I might look like kind of girl,
who just fell off the turnip truck,
but its really not that way
I've got piles of living that I’ve done
though my feet may seem completely
on the ground let me assure you
that baby, I've been around

It's not the years, it’s the miles
and the tears and the trials
of life that are killing me
and though I cant look away
I'm weary today
of things that once would be thrilling me
maybe this is just isn't my season
but I just cant see the reason
for plying my feminine wiles
it’s not the years its the miles

It's been funny I suppose
I dropped acid with the Eskimos
I ran naked through the streets of old Bombay
I've been in jail, on the loose
I slipped from the hangman's noose
do the scars on my neck give me away?
But I never had some much fun (my darlings)
as when my wandering round was done
I'm standing still and I'm all smiles
it’s not the years its the miles

once there as time when I was able
to drink ten sailors under the table
but it soon becomes a bore,
when your name is on the lips
of every sailor that wanders ashore

Now you know where I'm at
I'm hanging up my hat
hey the money wasn't even all that good
but I tell you my thesis
when I pick up the pieces
they'll go back together like they should
maybe I'm nearly half insane
but you won’t never hear me complain
‘cause that was never my style
It's not the years it’s the miles