It's a life-time from the leather stalls
The Berbers and bazaars
Down through every measured movement
In the making of the cars.
And it doesn't pay much
And it doesn't leave scars - on the outside,
All this way ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
Another day ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
You've come too far ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ TouIouse.
And they give you the impression
It's all Monet and Braque
But the oil they squeeze on their palettes
They never use on this track,
And every extra filter
Is a fissure, is a crack ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ on the inside.
And he walks in right behind you
As you both go punching in
And you both pick up your rivets
From an aluminium bin.
And he thinks what makes him different
Is the colour of his skin ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ it's on the outside.
You've had their OAS
You've had their CGT
And no-one will be working here
When they bring in CNC
Latin Quarter - TOULOUSE Lyrics
Latin Quarter - TOULOUSE Lyrics
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It's a life-time from the leather stalls
The Berbers and bazaars
Down through every measured movement
In the making of the cars.
And it doesn't pay much
And it doesn't leave scars - on the outside,
All this way ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
Another day ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
You've come too far ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ TouIouse.
And they give you the impression
It's all Monet and Braque
But the oil they squeeze on their palettes
They never use on this track,
And every extra filter
Is a fissure, is a crack ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ on the inside.
And he walks in right behind you
As you both go punching in
And you both pick up your rivets
From an aluminium bin.
And he thinks what makes him different
Is the colour of his skin ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ it's on the outside.
You've had their OAS
You've had their CGT
And no-one will be working here
When they bring in CNC
The Berbers and bazaars
Down through every measured movement
In the making of the cars.
And it doesn't pay much
And it doesn't leave scars - on the outside,
All this way ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
Another day ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ Toulouse
You've come too far ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ TouIouse.
And they give you the impression
It's all Monet and Braque
But the oil they squeeze on their palettes
They never use on this track,
And every extra filter
Is a fissure, is a crack ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ on the inside.
And he walks in right behind you
As you both go punching in
And you both pick up your rivets
From an aluminium bin.
And he thinks what makes him different
Is the colour of his skin ÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂÃÂ it's on the outside.
You've had their OAS
You've had their CGT
And no-one will be working here
When they bring in CNC
Writer: MICHAEL CARLOS JONES, STEPHEN ROBERT SKAITH
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group