Argenteuil (Val-d'Oise), working-class town
Red (communist) bastion for years.
Down the streets, there's no sea
But there's the Seine to cross.
You won't see any slate
Roofs on our houses.
If you care about it, I can make you see
The most lovely concrete of the region.
Look at, look at my town.
Look at it grow.
Look at, look at my town.
Listen to it cough.
For a tourist, it's nothing special.
There's not much to take photographs of.
Only here, as far as factories grow
We are quite organised.
The mayor is a responsible man
Who has a particular humor.
Our avenues take their names
From the greatest internees.
Me, I would have liked to live
On Hawthorn Street, Olive (tree) Driveway.
I had a two-room (flat) on Lenin Avenue
Near Paul Vaillant-Couturier Street.
Look at, look at my town.
Look at it grow.
Look at, look at my town.
Listen to it cough.
For a tourist, it's nothing special.
There's not much to take photographs of.
Only here, as far as factories grow
We are quite organised.
Here, no local music
Nor very developed folklore.
Rock bands or choral societies
That are big hits in high schools.
On July 14 (Bastille Day), there's a ball
And, like in every suburban town
We can count on hooligans
Who come and make our old folks waltz.
Well, well, Granny?
We can't have a good time anymore.
Yes, yes, yes, Granddad
The music has changed.
Argenteuil, working-class town
Red bastion for years.
Down the streets, there's no sea
But there's the Seine to cross.
And when we wanted to talk about love
There weren't 36 solutions.
The Cormeilles Wood in the vicinity
Or the Mill at Orgemont.
Those who wanted to play the rich
Went to nightclubs in Enghien-les-Bains.
But as a friend told me, with a sad mood
"I can't dance on Giscard d'Estaing Street".
Look at, look at my town.
Look at it grow.
Look at, look at my town.
Listen to it cough.
For a tourist, it's nothing special.
There's not much to take photographs of.
Only here, as far as factories grow
We are quite organised.
Argenteuil (Val-d'Oise), working-class town Red (communist) bastion for years. Down the streets, there's no sea But there's the Seine to cross. You won't see any slate Roofs on our houses. If you care about it, I can make you see The most lovely concrete of the region.
Look at, look at my town. Look at it grow. Look at, look at my town. Listen to it cough. For a tourist, it's nothing special. There's not much to take photographs of. Only here, as far as factories grow We are quite organised.
The mayor is a responsible man Who has a particular humor. Our avenues take their names From the greatest internees. Me, I would have liked to live On Hawthorn Street, Olive (tree) Driveway. I had a two-room (flat) on Lenin Avenue Near Paul Vaillant-Couturier Street.
Look at, look at my town. Look at it grow. Look at, look at my town. Listen to it cough. For a tourist, it's nothing special. There's not much to take photographs of. Only here, as far as factories grow We are quite organised.
Here, no local music Nor very developed folklore. Rock bands or choral societies That are big hits in high schools. On July 14 (Bastille Day), there's a ball And, like in every suburban town We can count on hooligans Who come and make our old folks waltz.
Well, well, Granny? We can't have a good time anymore. Yes, yes, yes, Granddad The music has changed. Argenteuil, working-class town Red bastion for years. Down the streets, there's no sea But there's the Seine to cross.
And when we wanted to talk about love There weren't 36 solutions. The Cormeilles Wood in the vicinity Or the Mill at Orgemont. Those who wanted to play the rich Went to nightclubs in Enghien-les-Bains. But as a friend told me, with a sad mood "I can't dance on Giscard d'Estaing Street".
Look at, look at my town. Look at it grow. Look at, look at my town. Listen to it cough. For a tourist, it's nothing special. There's not much to take photographs of. Only here, as far as factories grow We are quite organised.