| They call me coquette, and mademoiselle
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| And I must admit I like it quite well
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| It’s something to be the darling of all;
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| Le grande femme fatale, the belle of the ball
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| There’s nothing as gay as life in Paris
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| There’s no other person, I’d rather be
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| I love what I do, I love what I see
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| But where is the schoolgirl that used to be me
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| Ah, the apple trees
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| Where at garden teas
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| Jack-o-lanterns swung:
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| Fashions of the day
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| Vests of applique
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| Dresses of shantung
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| Only yesterday
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| When the world was young
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| While sitting around we often recall
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| The laugh of the year, the night of them all
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| The blonds who was so attractive that year
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| Some opening night that made us all cheer;
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| Remember that time we all got so tight
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| And Jacques and Antoine got into a fight
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| The gendarmes who came, passed out like a light
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| I laugh with the rest, it’s all very bright
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| Ah, the apple trees
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| Sunlight memories
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| Where the hammock swung
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| On our backs we’d lie;
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| Looking at the shy
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| Till the stars were strung
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| Only last July
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| When the world was young
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| You’ll see me in Cape D’Antibes, or in Spain
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| I follow the sun by boat or by plane
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| It’s any old millionaire in a storm
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| For I’ve got my mink to keep my heart warm:
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| And sometimes I drink too much with the crowd
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| And, sometimes I talk a little too loud
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| My head may be aching, but it’s unbowed
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| And sometimes I see it all through the cloud
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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 Bordeau
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| Rowing at 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 |