I'm out doin’ the usual places,
And I’m livin’ it, like young!
Then I dig me this face of all faces,
She’s the craziest, like young!

She drinks coffee at Café Espresso,
She reads Kerouac* , like young!
She goes where all the angry young men go,
Recites poetry, like young!

We start blowin’ the pad about lovin’
And we’re homin’ it, like now!
We spin records on cloud number seven,
And she’s reaching me, like wow!

( He’s all unstrung,
‘Cause man, she’s got him feelin’ like young!
If she were to frosh him and go,
He’s startin’ to wear his hair again,
Just like a square again! )

I keep a getting’ the kookiest notion.
I think maybe it’s like love!
I've been feelin’ a crazy emotion,
I think baby, it’s like love!

Now we’re ridin’ a rainbow to Cloudsville,
And we’re makin’ it like young!
Love . . . soft as April snow!
Love . . . warm as candle glow!
Love . . . love is easy go!

Now we’re ridin’ a rainbow to Cloudsville,
And we’re makin’ it like young!

< repeat last two lines twice to a whisper >

Music by André Previn
with lyrics by Paul Francis Webster, 1959
Arranged by O.B. Masingill

*Ker·ou·ac ( kèr¹¡-àk´ ), Jack — 1922-1969 American writer and leading figure of the beat generation.
His primarily autobiographical books include On the Road (1957) and Desolation Angels (1965