A keresés eredménye

The South Americans

The South Americans
Under the sun of the distant seas
Wait for me
I drive a convertible car
Palm trees, sandy beaches
Around me
 
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
How good it is, how sweet it is
How crazy it is, that it's all good
 
On the radio, there are bangos and maracas solos
Ah, I'm plugged into Caracas
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
 
Ooh, the perfumed South Americans
Who walk around
Very close to me
I roll my big, round eyes
On your swaying hips
And here I am
 
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
How good it is, how sweet it is
How crazy it is, that it's all good
 
On the tango radio, and there's love in the air
Ah, I'm plugged into Buenos Aires
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
 
Where are you, you who watch the cats
Charmers and musicians?
Where are you, South americans? Show yourselves.
 
Sweet, it's beautiful everywhere from Brazil to Peru
There is a madness hanging around everywhere
South Americans whenever you want
See you anywhere, ooh!
 
South Americans,
Beautiful bubbles of oxygen,
Give me
All. Your feline caresses,
Tropical vitamins,
Drive me crazy
 
How good, how beautiful
That it's hot, that it's all good
How good, how sweet
It's crazy, it's all good
You will have to think about visiting the Cubans in Cuba
I'm plugged into the cha-chas
 
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
How good it is, how sweet it is
How crazy it is, that it's all good
 
How good it is, how beautiful it is
That it's hot, that it's all good
How good it is, how sweet it is
How crazy what that does to me is
 

A nice story

Versions: #4
It's a beautiful novel ,it's a nice story
it's a romance of today.
he was on his way home, up there in the fog.
she was going down in the southern France,
they met on the road side
on the holidays motorway.
 
it was,undoubtely, a lucky day
they had the sky within their hands
a gift of providence
so,why thinking about tomorrow
 
they hide in a large wheatfield
letting themselves be taken by the streams
they told one another the story of their starting lives
they were still children,children
who met on the roadside
on the holiday highway
it was undoubtely a luck day
they gathered the sky with the hollow of their hands
like we gather providence
refusing to think about tomorrow