They call me coquette, and mademoiselle,
And I must admit I like it quite well.
It's something to be the darling of all;
Le grande femme fatale, the belle of the ball,
There's nothing as gay as life in Paris,
There's no other person, I'd rather be,
I love what I do, I love what I see,
But where is the schoolgirl that used to be me.
Ah, the apple trees,
Where at garden teas,
Jack-o-lanterns swung:
Fashions of the day,
Vests of applique,
Dresses of shantung,
Only yesterday.
While sitting around we often recall,
The laugh of the year, the night of them all,
The blonds who was so attractive that year,
Some opening night that made us all cheer;
Remember that time we all got so tight,
And Jacques and Antoine got into a fight,
The gendarmes who came, passed out like a light,
I laugh with the rest, it's all very bright.
Ah, the apple trees,
Sunlight memories,
Where the hammock swung,
On our backs we'd lie;
Looking at the shy,
Till the stars were strung,
Only last July,
When the world was young.
You'll see me in Cape D'Antibes, or in Spain,
I follow the sun by boat or by plane,
It's any old millionaire in a storm,
For I've got my mink to keep my heart warm:
And sometimes I drink too much with the crowd,
And, sometimes I talk a little too loud,
My head may be aching, but it's unbowed,
And sometimes I see it all through the cloud
Ah, the apple trees,
And the hive of bees,
Where we once got stung,
Summers at Bordeau,
Rowing at bateau,
Where the willow hung,
Just a dream ago,