I come from France where we dance the conga
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Where we take more hits than crash test dummies
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I have friends with degrees, others who haven't read two books
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Who are probably on a wall, in the streets of downtown
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My father climbed the ladder to become what he wanted to be
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My mother is the housewife that the advertisers want to attract
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I know the countryside and its big clogs
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Where it doesn't fly high, the gossip and the birds
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Always so much rain at home
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Always so much rain at home
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But it's still beautiful, it's beautiful
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At home, it's beautiful, it's beautiful
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I come from the middle earth where there are many old people
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Where unemployment and herbal tea form a vicious circle
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Where we criticize the guests who just left
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It's not that we're slow, it's that we take our time to think
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I come from the middle class, moderately classy
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Where everyone is looking for a place, Julien Clerc in the minivan
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I was freestyling in my head to the sound of the windshield wipers
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There's rain featuring in all my sentences
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Always so much rain at home
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But it's still beautiful, it's beautiful
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At home, it's beautiful, it's beautiful
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At home, there's sunshine forty days per year
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You can spend most of the year waiting for it
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I was looking out the window, locked in my room
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I was praying for the end of the rain and to go skateboarding
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I only know the sound of the rain, the smell of wet concrete
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If I left, it's because I was afraid of rusting
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Soaked, I never would have thought
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That the bad weather would end up being missed
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It's still beautiful, it's beautiful
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At home, it's beautiful, it's beautiful
_____
But it's still beautiful, it's beautiful
_____
At home, it's beautiful, it's beautiful
_____
Always so much rain at home
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Always so much rain at home
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Always so much rain at home