There will be a sweet taste in the air
From industrial waste in the air;
And your eyelids will smart from the sting of the smog in the spring of next year.
There will be a black slick on the Seine,
And the sludge will be thick on the Seine;
And your eardrums will thrill to the ring of the axe in the spring of next year.
Ahh, the apple trees blooming, as they're crushed into pulp;
There'll be smokestacks consuming each available gulp that's inhalable.
But the moment most thrilling begins when the pneumatic drilling begins;
It's a song that all Paris will sing in the bountiful spring of next year.
You'll be watching the statues corrode, we'll be hearing the fountains explode;
It's a song that the hatchets will ring and the derricks will ding and all Paris will sing in the bountiful spring of next year.
Writer(s): HERMAN JERRY
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