Текст песни Mon Die Senie - Malcolm McLaren

Seeing those short hairs so close
And smelling the stale odour of scent and sweat
Yeah, I was overcome with desire for it
And reaching out with my hands
I grabbed her sweet arse
I always get a kick out of Paris
I grabbed her cute arse so close
And sank my desperate mouth
At the heavy oily sex
Why don′t they try a little harder back home?
Why don't they?
It all seems so brighter here
On the Rue Pigalle
Bond, James Bond!
That′s what they call me
Because I'm Ecossais
Vive l'Ecosse, they say
It always seems more dirty
When I walk these streets
All I want to do is think Blue
Yeah, shocking Blue!
I pass old hotels with sexy curtains
Life and love and death gone by
A thousand times, why should I try
To change anything?
I always get a kick out of Paris
(Mon dié sinié, anyambami
Mon dié sinié, anyambami)
Let it roll! Let it roll!
Who is she?
Where′s the man, who saw the man
Who saw the man, who saw the girl?
I′m going crazy
Paris does that to me
Blue, the only colour of sex
The only colour of my shirt and jacket
The only colour on the rue Saint-Jacques
She felt the seed stir at the pit of her belly
In response to my strong tonguing movements
(Mon dié sinié, anyambami
Mon dié sinié, anyambami
Mon dié sinié, anyambami
Mon dié sinié, anyambami)
I can't get enough
Of undoing that stuff
Satin, chiffon, silk and cotton
Just underwear, Mon dié sinié
Plain and simple
Who is she?
Where are all the gods to listen to?
Where are the gods to tell me what to do?
All i want to do is think Blue
Shocking Blue, the only colour of sex
My huge hands grasped at your hips
Your blonde hair formed a pool on the dark wood
Between my feet
And I raised you to doting love
And then I let it subside, Yeah
In a soft corrosion
I always get a kick out of Paris
(Mon dié sinié, anyambami)
Let it Roll, let it Roll
I can′t get enough
Of undoing that stuff
Who is she?
And where's the man
Who saw the man, who saw the man
Who saw the man, who saw the girl?
I′m going crazy
Where in the world can you find such dreams?
Nowhere it seems except Paris
Yeah, I always get a kick out of Paris
But then again, I'm not sure
But it′s better than yesterday
And tomorrow's another day
And I want to live yesterday, tomorrow