Hey, we gotta celebrate. What? Yeah, first the Montmartre,
you need somebody to guide you,
to guard you here in Paris.
No. Not the Moulin Rouge?
No. Not the Follies -Bergeres?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
They are only for Americans.
The midnight life of gay Paris,
the Frenchman he would never see,
that's only for Americans.
The prices in the Smart Café,
the Frenchman he would never pay,
A Montmartre lady drops her hanky
that's only for the Yankee,
the Frenchman wouldn't buy.
The Frenchmen on the boulevards
They're only for Americans
The little holes for peeping through
To see what naughty people do
The shops with many real an tiques,
antiques as old as seven weeks,
The bed on which a king made love,
which there are several dozens of,
We sell them to Americans
We buy your worn out mink and sables
and fix them up like new.
Then simply change the labels
and sell them back to you.
A Frenchman wouldn't be impressed
That's only for Americans.
And each encore is only for Americans
A Frenchman's food is very plain
Those fancy sauces with tomatoes
A Frenchman seldom eats the snails
With little ounces on their tails
And all that cheese was made
Americans from the U .S .A.
While the American carouses,
where crimson shadows creep,
The French avoid those houses,
The season starts, they come to town,
they turn the city upside down.
We use their Yankee Doodle Dough
to clean up Paris when they go.
But we can't do without them,
we're simply mad about them,
The The Americans of the U .S .A.!