Tu es bourgeoise

Presque comme une framboise

I can tell, mademoiselle

That you're too red to be sunburnt

What it is I can't discern

And it makes you uncomfortable

To think of yourself this way

Tu n'es pas fait main

Rassis comme le vieux pain

I can see c'est la vie

That you're quiet and you're pure

And now you hang your head demur

And it makes you an atheist

To think of yourself this way

Sitting on the bottom of the shelf

She's missing all the pieces of herself

Am I patient, am I kind, or am I wasting time?

Counting out her blessings one by some

She's rounding down to several minus one

Am I patient, am I kind, or am I wasting time?

Tu es dans un pot

La fleur fane trop tot

I thought you knew c'est du deja vu

You demand to know how far

But you never left and you've been starred

And it makes you feel infinite

To think of yourself this way

Tu es bourgeoise

Presque comme une framboise

I can tell, mademoiselle

That you're too red to be sunburnt

What it is I can't discern

And it makes you uncomfortable

To think of yourself this way

Sitting on the bottom of the shelf

She's missing all the pieces of herself

Am I patient, am I kind, or am I wasting time?

Counting out her blessings one by some

She's rounding down to several minus one

Am I patient, am I kind, or am I wasting time?