Where Do You Go To My Lovely

Peter Sarstedt

You talk like Marlene Dietrich


And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire


Your clothes are all made by Balmain


And there's diamonds and pearls in you hair, yes there are


You live in a fancy apartment


Off the boulevard St. Michel


Where you keep your Rolling Stones records


And a friend of Sacha Dispel, yes you do


You go the embassy parties


Where you talk in Russian and Greek


And the youngmen who move in your circles


They hang on every word you speak, yes they do


But where do you go to my lovely


When you're alone in your bed


Tell me the parts that surround you


I want to look inside your head, yes I do


I've seen all your qualifications


You've got from the Sorbonne


And the painting you stole from Picasso


Your loveliness goed on and on, yes it does


When you go on your summer vacation


You go to Juan-les-Pines


With your carefully designed topless swimsuit


You get an even suntan, on your back and on your legs


And when the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz


With the others of the jetset


And you sip your Napoleon Brandy


But you never get your lips wet, no you don't


But where do you go to...


You're in between 20 and 30


A very desirable age


Your body firm and inviting


But you live on a glittering stage, yes you do, yes you do


You name is heard in high places


You know the Aga Khan


He sent you a racehorse for Christmas


And you keep it just for fun, just for a laugh, hahahaha


They say that when you get married


It'll be to a millionaire


But they don't realize where you came from


And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn


But where do you go to...


I remember the back streets of Napels


Two children begging in rags


Both touched with a burning ambition


To shake off their lowly brown tags, they try


So look into my face Marie-Claire


And remember just who you are


Then go and forget me forever


But I know you still bear


The scar, deep inside, yes you do