Luba, it was only the finest wine Means or no means Only the finest place to dine Paris in the sixties You had three sons Handsome husband by your side I flirted with everyone Your husband, aging but vain With the ladies was quite renowned Author of books made famous On his years in the French Underground But you, Luba, the Baroness It was really your blue blood No one could touch you with kid gloves And no one ever should And the hands of little Julian Will guide you well Et le pere du petit Sebastian Vous attend dans le ceil The youngest son Jerome Brighter than he could be Preferred the darkened corners And was even a little too young for me Tall and shy and crafty He was oh so scholarly then Got married later on Had a child by the name of Julian The eldest Jean Francoise What a mixture of sweetness and snobbery Milkfed by his mother On Russian aristocracy With wits like sabre through silk He was the wisest one Married and remarried Had a child by the name of Sebastian And the hands of little Julian Will guide you well Et le pere du petit Sebastian Vous attend dans le ceil Ah my sweet Christophe You were only seventeen First family dinners with the gypsies Finger chimes and tambourines With candlelit eyes of experience Oh how you laughed at me As I became rapidly foolish Under your gaze and on red burgundy In sixty-nine your father died
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