Il fait des...
Édith Piaf
He Makes...
Style-less habits
Hostile face
Always somewhere else
Dreamy eyes,
A stern voice
Barely speaking,
People said
He's not cheerful...
Yeah, but... but... but... but...
As soon as he hears the music
He acts like a maniac
He makes... la la la la
La la la la, la la la la
La la la la, la la la la
And then some... oh!
La la la la la la la la
La la la la often some... oh!
Willy, Willy, Willy, Willy,
Willy, Willy, Willy, Willy,
Willy, Willy, Willy, Willy,
Wi...
Rarely some...
The pleasure of love lasts just a moment
No, what he needs is some...
Hey dy, hey dy, hey dy, hey de dy, oh
Intellectual,
Industrial,
He's all that
But he won't say it,
Words of love
And forever
That just puts him to sleep
Something else entirely!
As soon as they play classical for him
He gets all melancholic
He makes some... oh!
And then some... huh!
Often some... yes... yes... yes...
Rarely some... ah! ah! ah!
No, what he needs is some...
Hey dy, hey dy, hey dy, hey de dy, oh
