No matter how young a prune may be,
He's always full of wrinkles,
We may get them on our face,
Prunes get them every place.
Nothing ever worries them,
Prunes don't sit and brew,
For no matter how young a prune may be,
It's always getting stewed.
In the kingdom of the fruits,
The prune is stuffed by others,
They are not allowed,
To mingle with the crowd.
Though they're never on display,
With all their dads and mothers,
This I think you'll find,
To this fact they don't mind.
No matter how young a prune may be,
He'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.
Baby prunes look like their dads,
But not wrinkled quite as bad.
Every day in every way,
The world is getting better,
We've even learned to fly,
As days go passing by.
But how about the poor old prune,
His life is only wetter,
No wonder he can't win,
In the awful stew he's in.
No matter how young a prune may be,
He's always full of wrinkles,
We may get them on our face,
Prunes get them every place.
Nothing ever worries them,
Their life's an open book,
But no matter how young a prune may be,
It has a worried look.
No matter how young a prune may be,
He's always full of wrinkles,
We may get them on our face,
Prunes get them every place.
Prunes act very kind they say,
When all the people moan,
But no matter how young a prune may be,
He has a heart of stone.
He has a heart of stone.