Lyrics Malcolm McLaren

Malcolm McLaren

Mon Die Senie

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 Ecosse

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, love and death gone by

A thousand times, why should I try

To change anything

I will get a kick out of Paris

Mon die senie, 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 you

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 movement

Mon die senie, anyambami

I can't get enough

Of undoing that stuff

Satin, chiffon, silk and cotton

Just underwear

Mon die senie

Plain and simple

Who is she,

Where are 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 you at your hips

And your blond 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

But I always get a kick out of Paris

Mon die senie, anyambami

Let it roll, let it roll

I can't get enough

Mmmm, of undoing that stuff

Who is she

And where's the man

Where's 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

And then again, I'm not sure

But it's better than yesterday

And tomorrow is another day

And I wanna live yesterday tomorrow