LYRICS GAME

Fill in the lyric gaps as you listen to the song

Why am I uncomfortable

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In front of my own flag

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Why do I see it waved

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Only abroad

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Or by fascists

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It's been gathering dust for ages

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Mine hasn't been much use to me

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Why does it bother me less

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When it's Argentina's

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Or Algeria's

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I answer I'm French

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With a hesitant look

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As if doubting it

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Had become obvious

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No matter the side

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No matter the camp

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I was told to hate the President

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I come from the country

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Where it's always sunny

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But also from the one

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Where it rains all the time

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Tell me whose descendant I am

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Collaborators or resistance fighters

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As many a*sholes as complexes

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If I leave

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You won't miss me

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But on the other side of the world

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First reflex

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I look to see if there are any French people

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I love France like an aunt

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I don't always agree with

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Who makes too little effort

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But for whom I'd cry

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All the tears in my body

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At her death

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You see how long this has been going on

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Love or hate

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It's no small matter

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The police, the one of dirty blunders

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Or the one on the front line

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At the Hyper Cacher

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Look elsewhere, take a step back

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Try to split the difference

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When we go to India

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We feel French

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When we come back

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We feel lucky

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Often we find answers

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When we're not expecting them

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Here it's the one who'll lie

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The most sincerely

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We only love each other after

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World Cups

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Or terrorist attacks

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Like those families who only reunite

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At weddings

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Or funerals

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It feels weird

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But I love this country

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The one that taxes me

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And smothers me with taxes

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The one that pays for me

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At the pharmacy

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Who took me for free

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To see the sea at summer camp

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Its history

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I know its horrors

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But also its power

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I'm not responsible for its mistakes

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But I have to deal with its consequences

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Too many promises

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We get acquainted

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But how many know each other

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We need to progress

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To be honest, me, France

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I tend to write it with an s

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We manufacture abroad

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If it's cheaper

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And you, where would you go if war came

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Forget history, we rewrite history

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Peace at the foot of the wall

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Of our borders

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My dad lives in French

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But dreams in Spanish

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Is it serious

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And he writes Long live France

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With a spelling mistake

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Lots of questions

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Few answers

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I only have a song's lyrics

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How to be a committed artist

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When I don't really know

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What to think

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All that's sure

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Is that I'm French

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That my grandparents

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Weren't

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But what matters

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Is more the arrival

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Or the starting line

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And f*ck how I love France

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For its history

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For its castles

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For its cathedrals

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For its countryside, for its culture

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For its mountains, yeah

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But we eat each other up

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Like cannibals

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All in the same boat

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That's crucial

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No more nuance, only radical

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All hiding behind a barricade

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Everybody knows everything, huh

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Self-esteem is high

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We blame the other

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But the others are us

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Seems the chapel's on fire

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The land of Joan of Arc or Jamel

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Apparently being bitter

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Is our pride

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That we're the kings of freedom

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In the old tomes, there are the Gauls

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There are the knights

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But in the kitchen

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There's my grandma

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And her faded Berber tattoos

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Sometimes I tell myself, come on, I bail

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I take a house

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By a lake

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And then at night in front of the mirror

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I think twice about leaving

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Like a coward

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Because I think

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That I love this country despite everything

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When I leave it

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I only think about my return

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She's beautiful

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My France and her land

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Even if it's not me

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She sees in the mirror

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I tell myself we could do it

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Break the glass ceiling

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Instead of pointing out

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Everyone's differences

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Focus on what we've

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Got in common

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Monopoly games

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Crying to Johnny's songs

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Listening to elders' advice

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Brittany even if it rains

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Taking lots of medicine

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Aspirin and Doliprane

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Omar Sy and Zidane

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Saying it was better before

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Édith Piaf's La vie en rose

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The pearls of rain

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Of Jacques Brel

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Making sculptures

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With the red thing

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That goes around the Babybel

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Aperitif time

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Not owning up to the hangover

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Grumbling when it's too hot

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And grumbling when it's too cold

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France, I love her

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I still want her

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French from head to toes

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But all these mistakes

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That precede us

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Here's a nice poem for her

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Holy mix, holy cocktail

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Some tell me it's lethal

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But despite all the problems

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I take you

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Into my holy mess