Ah, Paris!
Sitting under the maple trees
In the gardens of the Tuileries,
A bird shat on my hand.
And when I did not move,
Again on my jacket. In Paris,
even the birds do not suffer fools gladly.
Ah, Paris!
Sitting under the maple trees
In the gardens of the Tuileries,
A bird shat on my hand.
And when I did not move,
Again on my jacket. In Paris,
even the birds do not suffer fools gladly.
