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We don't say madame
We say mademoiselle
That's what we call it
Girls of joy, children, virgins
Rolling your eyes to the sky
No ring on your finger
No more lead in the wing
Flee far from cold countries
Like the swallows
Not like all those
Who shed so many tears
When he pretends to be beautiful
The prince full of charms
We don't say madame
We say miss
That's how we call them
Old maids, saints, homosexuals
Rolling your eyes to heaven
But how beautiful they are
These women who are free
D 'love this or that
By leaving the other free
To fly for a few hours
The pretty butterflies
Don't look elsewhere
When we don't put them in prison
Leaving it out in the open
Their room and their thighs
Their soul exposed
Without any other artifice
The Marie-couche-toi-là
br/>Are so full of grace
They erase all those
To virtual virtue
We don't say madame
We say miss
It's like That's what we call
Dancers, poets, painters, models
I'm a bit like her
No ring on my finger
De lead in the brain
But if you want me
I will try to be the one
Who will make you happy
The pretty butterflies
Don't look elsewhere
What they find at home