She's too young to be so sad
Fifteen, but her eyes look sixty -five
She's a little shy, mister,
She's the rotten apple of
She was down on Conti Street
Where the junkies and the
sittin' in a puddle of beer
Leanin' up against the pawn shop door
I could see she wasn't just
With her head back, laughing,
a laugh so remarkably clear
I seen them teenage prostitutes
They're all fake fur, go -go boots
Like a diamond in a garbage can
So pretty she could hardly stand
I drove on home, never got a name
She's too young to be so sad
Fifteen, but her eyes look sixty -five
She's too sad to be so young
She's a little shy, mister,