| It isn’t by chance I happen to be
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| A boulevardier, the toast of Paris
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| For over the noise, the talk and the smoke
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| I’m good for a laugh, a drink or a joke
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| I walk in a room, a party or ball
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| «Come sit over here» somebody will call
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| «A drink for M’sieur, a drink for us all»
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| But how many times I stop and recall
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| Ah, the apple trees
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| Blossoms in the breeze
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| That we walked among
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| Lyin' in the hay
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| Games we used to play
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| While the rounds were sung
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| Only yesterday
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| When the world was young
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| Wherever I go thy mention my name
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| And that in itself, is som sort of fame
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| «Come by for a drink, we’re havin' a game»
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| Wherever I go I’m glad that I came
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| The talk is quite gay, the company fine
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| There’s laughter and lights, and glamour and wine
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| And beautiful girls and some of them mine
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| But often my eyes see a different shine
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| Ah, the apple trees
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| And the hive of bees
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| Where we once got stung
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| Summers at Bordeaux
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| Rowing the bateau
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| Where the willow hung
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| Just a dream ago
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| When the world was young
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| When the world was young |