Paris Breakfast Blues

Okay, I don’t usually foist this sort of stuff on the public, but a comment was made and this crossed my mind. My appologies to those of you with more refined sensibilities.

Woke up early in the morning, no coffee in the kitchen
I woke up early this morning, there’s no coffee in the kitchen
Figured I’d go out and get some, instead of sittin’ bitchin’.

Went down to the corner, didn’t know which way to go.
Went down to the corner, didn’t know which way to go.
It was Paris in the morning, everything looked closed.

Went down to the market, where I’d seen a sign.
Went on down to the market, where I’d seen a sign.
Vignt-quatres heures non-stop means they’re open all the time.

I sat down at a table, coffee on my mind.
Yes, sitting at the table, it was coffee on my mind.
But five drunken Frenchies, this lonely Yank would find.

They waved and hollered, called me over to their table.
And shouted and pouted to get me over to their table.
Parisians, they like coffee, but they drink wine if they are able.

So it’s six am in the morning, and I’ve begun to hit the booze.
Six o’clock in the morning, and I’ve already hit the booze.
The sun is coming up now, and I’ve got the Paris Breakfast Blues.