. Papy Jeanmarry Chante Mademoiselle De Paris. It is called Mademoiselle de Paris And his life is a little bit ours His kingdom is the Rue de Rivoli His destiny is to dress the other They say it's small hand And while it is true that it is not great What bouquets and garlands Did she planted on our paths.
She sings a tune of his suburb She dreams to vows of love She cries more often than Miss of Paris It gives all the talent it has To make a ball at the Opera And took it to the Porte des Lilas Miss of Paris The weather is great And up She'll sew a heart with her coat
But the heart of a child of Paris It is similar to violets It attaches to the bodice Saturday On Sunday the party is lost Tavern Farewell, farewell boy There she is alone with his pain And again the week And again the song
She sings a tune of his suburb She dreams to vows of love She cries more often than Miss of Paris She gives a little of his twenty years To make your spring collection And only dream goes on a bench Miss of Paris Three small towers Greetings She forgets that she cried for love She sings and his heart is pleased Her dream and his dream is blue She cries but it is not very serious Miss of Paris It flies in small steps hurry She runs to the Champs Elysées And gives a little lunch Sparrows Tuileries She hums She smiles... And that Mademoiselle de Paris.
