Raspberries, Strawberries

A young man goes to Paris,
As every young man should,
There’s something in the air of France,
That does a young man good.
Ah, les fraises et les framboises,
Et les bon vins que nous avons bus,
Raspberries, strawberries,
The good wines we brew,
Here’s to the girls of the countryside,
The ones we drink them to.
The Paris nights are warm and fair,
The summer winds are soft,
A young man finds the face of love,
In every field and loft,
In every field and loft.
An old man returns to Paris,
As every old man must,
He finds the winter winds blow cold,
And his dreams have turned to dust,
His dreams have turned to dust,
His dreams have turned to dust.
Ah, les fraises et les framboises
Et les bon vins que nous avons bus,
Raspberries, strawberries,
The good wines we brew,
Here’s to the girls of the countryside,
Whom we must bid adieu.