It was a teenage wedding

And the old folks wished them well
You could see that Pierre
Did [bad word] love the mademoiselle
And now the young monsieur
And madame [bad word] the chapel bell
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They furnished off an apartment
With a two room
Roebuck sale
The coolerator was crammed
With TV dinners and
ginger ale
But when Pierre found work
The little [bad word] #39;
worked out well
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They had a hi-fi phono
Boy, did they let it blast
Seven hundred little records
All rock, rhythm and jazz
But when the sun went down
The rapid tempo of the music fell
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell

They bought a souped-up jitney
'Twas a cherry red '53
They drove it down to Orleans
To celebrate the anniversary
It was there that Pierre was married
To the lovely mademoiselle
"C'est la vie", say the old folks
It goes to show you never can tell