A leather Prada handbag,
fell in love as far as could be,
I'm already not so happy,
true - the handbag's not forgotten.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
It's mine, mine, mine.
I remember all of its curves,
the tender leather, smell, taste...
If you saw it, you would...
I dream about myself with it.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
It's mine, mine, mine.
A leather Prada handbag,
it can't be touched by your hand,
probably serves me right,
but it's gone off with someone else.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
I don't want to live without it,
I cry out - it's mine.
It's mine, mine, mine.