A kid from Paris, it's quite a poem
In no country, there is the same
Because he's a titi, little guy from goudi that we love
A kid from Paris, it's the sweet mix
Of a sky freed from the devil and an angel
And his bold eye 'moved in front of an orange
No higher than three apples
But challenge the kind man
Who called him my little one
A kid of Paris, it's a cockade
Button that blooms in a mustard pot
It's all the spirit, the spirit of Paris that dawdles
Trousers too long for him
Always his hands in his pockets
We see him running away
As soon as he sees a kepi
A kid from Paris, he 'is quite a poem
In no country is there the same
Because he's a titi, a smart little guy that we love
br/>He is the heir, at his birth
Of an entire past fraught with consequences
And he knows that, well that he ignores the history of France
Knowing that on the squares, for an ideal
Little guys full of audacity
Ã⬠their faà §we had a ball
A kid from Paris, full of carefree
Cheerful and delighted with the life that sings
If you have to also like Gavroche
Enter in dance
A kid from Paris whispered in my ear
If I leave here, know that the day before
I will have succeeded in   put Paris in a bottle.

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