When you look for a woman in Paris,
Now, even if you pay the price,
All you come across is debris
Or carrion
br/>But to find what we need,
There is still a good place,
It's at the end of Paris... not very far:
Au bois d'Boulogne.
It's a wood that is truly rupin:
When you want to make a good chopin,
You get dragged there in fir
And shamelessly,
We choose throughout the woods,
Because there are only frogs to choose from!
And there are even chicks of kings!!
Au Bois d'Boulogne.
There are lots of them, there are everywhere:
From Burgundy and Poitou,
From Nanterre and Montretout,
And from 'La Gascony
From Pantin, from Montmorency,
From there, from where, from elsewhere or from here,
And all that comes to its parsley
In Bois d'Boulogne.
It's powdering, it's shining and it's shining,
It's moving, it's making noise,
It's rolling, It passes and it flees!
It screams, it growls!
And it will all be over again, in the evening
At home ©stable or in the boudoir...
Then the night carpeted all in black
In the Bois d'Boulogne.
Then it's time for the meeting
Purkeys and thieves,
And escarp' and marlous
Who have no work,
And who leave, always in threes,
Behind the old bourgeois bastards,
Doing Father François' trick to them
In the Bois d'Boulogne.

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