Lovers of Paris listen to my song as they lay together1
In Paris, lovers have it their way.
The tunes I sing for them
are more beautiful than warm days.
It creates a lot of springs,
and spring creates love.
My verse got lost
around a public garden.
They never gave it back to me,
but still I know very well
that the lovers of Paris
stole my songs from me.
In Paris, lovers have strange ways...
The lovers of Paris are made in Robinson2
when hits are scored
by the accordion.
The lovers of Paris are about to enter a new season,
dragging by the hand
my nice little tune3.
There's gold aplenty, and lillac,
and eyes to see it all.
That's how stories
begin, usually.
The lovers of Paris are made in Robinson.
In Paris, lovers have strange ways...
I hold the chains of love
in my outstretched hands.
There are millions of lovers
and I have but a single tune.
The chorus is about
guys from all over the world
who would pay a springtime
to have a go at love.
A springtime is not
such a great price to pay,
since I plastered nice months of may
all over their calendars.
The lovers of Paris have worn out my songs,
In Paris, lovers have it their way.
...
Give me some songs,
so that people fall in love in Paris...
1. the French sounds surprisingly crude. It could be read as "have sex on my tune" or "are lying on my song" as if the song was a bed2. a small town near Paris where people used to go dancing in the 50's3. the French makes it sound like the tune was a small kid, but I don't know how to render that