| La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. |
| Raspberries, strawberries,
|
| the good wines we brew.
|
| Here’s to the girls of the countryside, the ones we drink 'em to.
|
| Spoken: Paris nights are warm and fair. |
| The summer winds are soft.
|
| A young man finds the face of love in every field and loft.
|
| In every field and loft.
|
| (Chorus)
|
| Spoken: An old man returns to Paris as ev’ry old man must. |
| He finds the winter
|
| winds blow cold. |
| His dreams have turned to dust.
|
| His dreams have turned to dust. |
| His dreams have turned to dust.
|
| Ah! |
| les fraises et les fromboises et les bon vins que nous avons bus.
|
| La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. |
| Raspberries, strawberries,
|
| the good wines we brew.
|
| Here’s to the girls of the countryside, whom we must bid adieu. |