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