French Girl - Banana Bomb

She wasn’t damned

It’s a luck of faith she was born

As a French and all the glam

Of this world is meant for her.

She’s so keen

But I know that she’s really bored.

Her skin is really thin,

It merely holds all the whoredom.

Cry, cry, cry French girl.

I like to see tears drip from your fine curls

Girl, girl, girl.

French girl has

Dolce Gabbana fancy dress

But her soul is a frightful mess

Dirty mess that you can’t suppress

Come and see

Don’t touch with dirty hands

How pure the soul can be

When the hate is all that it has

Hu-huh

Here goes the glamour

Hi, Eiffel tower

You’ll go bananas, be torn into pieces.