France Gall - Sacre' Charlemagne

It does rain in Los Angeles.  Last night, and all day yesterday. You turned the heater on. (It's fifty-five). Your car gurgled through the puddles and splashed dust away from jasmine and snapdragons. Were those planted there before?

Today you're barefoot and wearing a dress.  

A girl's advice in sixth grade: "Take French. Boys will think you're hot." So, I avoided the subject; nada de lamentarme.  

Huh, it does pour in Los Angeles. Too much time between the world's oldest scene change has you forgetful. Birds twit their heads about and fly down from the hills a-chirping to K-town to nip at burgers and peck at trash.  Gray came to the stale blue out your bathroom window, and now it's clear and bright. What's that you were saying?

You weren't wrong to forget, but we ought to shout, it does rain in LA!