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