Peter Sarsted - Where Do You Go To My Lovely

Peter Eardley Sarstedt, rojen 12.12.1943 v Delhiju, Indija, je angleško-indijski pevec in skladatelj. You talk like Marlene Dietrich And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire Your clothes are all made by Balmain And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are You live in a fancy apartment Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel Where you keep your Rolling Stones records And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do But where do you go to my lovely When you're alone in your bed Tell me the thoughts that surround you I want to look ... več Peter Eardley Sarstedt, rojen 12.12.1943 v Delhiju, Indija, je angleško-indijski pevec in skladatelj.

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire

Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are

You live in a fancy apartment

Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I've seen all your qualifications

You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you're found in Saint Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don't

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Won't you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas

And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh a-ha-ha-ha

They say that when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

Where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can look inside your head

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(na na-na-na na na-na-na na-na na na na na) manj