Based on France 1969
Frida Boccara — Un jour, un enfant
My shoes are never washed
I just love the smell of trash
Scrubbing has for long been quashed
Done with all that big pharma
No sponge may do to me
What all people enjoy to see
Killing all germs on my feet
Argh, what pitiful karma
Oppressed by all
Who want me to be laundered
They’ll lock me in a cell
Forcing me to bathe
I want them all to go
That is what I would prefer
That one dawn I am alone
With my disgusting feet and fur
Confession time
This song is a distraction
Into your house I’ve gone
I’ve thrown out your sponge
I’m not a monster, nay
Now you are with me to stay
Soon your feet are soiled and pure
May we not ever wash our shoes