Mr Mclaren

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A man of whom I was ferociously fond died yesterday. A kind and courteous man. A charming man. A mischievous imp who loved to puncture the balloon of the pompous, undermine the all-powerful and intimidate the bully. A true artist and art-lover. Unforgettable. R.I.P. Mr Mclaren.

MON DIE SENIE

Seeing those short hairs so close
And smelling the stale odour of scent and sweat
Yeah, I was overcome with desire for it
And reaching out my hands
I grabbed her sweet arse
I always get a kick out of Paris

I grabbed her cute arse so close
And sank my desperate mouth
At the heavy oily sex

Why don't they try a little harder back home
Why don't they?
It all seems so much brighter here
On the rue Pigalle

Bond, James Bond!
That's what they call me
Because I'm Ecossais
Vive l'Ecosse, they say

It always seems more dirty
When I walk these streets
All I want to do is think Blue
Yeah, shocking Blue!

I pass old hotels with sexy curtains
Life, love and death gone by
A thousand times, why should I try
To change anything
I will get a kick out of Paris

Mon die senie, anyambami

Let it Roll! Let it Roll!

Who is she?
Where's the man, who saw the man
Who saw the man, who saw the girl
I'm going crazy
Paris doest that to me

Blue, the only colour of sex
The only colour of my shirt and jacket
The only colour on the rue Saint-Jacques
She left the seed stir at the pit of her belly
In response to my strong tonguing movements
Mon die senie, anyambami

I can't get enough
Of undoing that stuff
Satin, chiffon, silk and cotton
Just underwear, plain and simple

Who is she,
Where are the gods to listen to
Where are the gods to tell me what to do
All I want to do is think Blue
Shocking Blue, the only colour of sex
My huge hands grasped you at your hips
Your blond hair formed a pool on the dark wood
Between my feet
And I raised you to doting love
And then let it subside, Yeah
In a soft corrosion
I always get a kick out of Paris

Mon die senie, anyambami

Let it Roll, Let it Roll

I can't get enough
Of undoing that stuff, and who is she
And where's the man, who saw the man
Who saw the man, who saw the girl

I'm going crazy

Where in the world can you find such dreams
Nowhere it seems except Paris
Yeah, always get a kick out of Paris
But then again, I'm not sure
But it's better than yesterday
And tomorrow's another day
And I want to live yesterday, tomorrow

Lyrics: Malcolm McLaren