Africain À Paris

Mom, I think of you, I write to you
From a three-star in Cachan
You see, you shouldn't tremble here
I have a roof and a little money

We all live together here, we survive
We lack almost nothing
It's not hell nor paradise
To be an African in Paris

Oh oh, a little in exile
Stranger in your city
I am African in Paris

Do you know they promised us places?
But it's by air
They are not in first class
It's a bird called charter

While waiting for the bird to fly
Black hands with magic fingers
Stir around the pots
A sun with the taste of mafé

Oh oh, a little in exile
Stranger in your city
I am African in Paris

And from Sunday to Sunday as well
I only work
You see, I'm lucky here
I will soon have my papers

Mom, I know you're used to
Getting too worried too quickly
Don't worry
If a hotel has burned down

Oh oh, a little in exile
Stranger in your city
I am African in Paris