There's a girl, her name is Bambirella
A gothic little princess grooving like an umbrella
One could swear she's an ad for autism
(But she's) Two hundred pounds of poetry and dark romanticism

She's been invited by a neighbour at a West Indian party
Rum flowing everywhere, stupid people laughing loudly
Neurosis resurfaces, she'd be better on her own
Than to share a night of shit with La Compagnie Cr?ole

Bambirella don't like Carioca
Fuck off Huggy, leave me on the sofa

(Tous ensemble!)
Ohlala Ohlala Ohlala Ohlala
Eh oui (Ohlala)
C'est comme?a
Ben vl? (Ohlala)
C'est la vie

Some assholes are gonna learn what it's like to be down

Pas de chatte (Ohlala)
C'est la faille
Eh oui (Ohlala)
C'est comme?a

"Dancing is easier than trying to find some work" she thinks
As inside she slowly goes berserk
She feels several laughing eyes scanning her entire body
She knows that within hours they all will be so sorry

Gross reflections, stupid puns and silly jokes
The cheap perfumes melted with the smells of booze and smoke
It makes her really sick so she's heading for the toilets
She's barely at the door (when) she feels a hand on her butt... Oh No!

Too much for her to take
Something's growing inside
Too much for her to take
They can run but can't hide
Too much for her to take
The fuckin' fury is now unleashed
She is gonna quote some Baudelaire
To the motherfucker who touched her derriere.

(Zoukez!)
Ohlala Ohlala Ohlala Ohlala
Eh oui (Ohlala)
C'est comme?a
Ben vl? (Ohlala)
C'est la vie

Some assholes are gonna learn what it's like to be down

Pas de chatte (Ohlala)
C'est la faille
Eh oui (Ohlala)
C'est comme?a

Fuck that shit
Bambirella will never go there again
All alone, without one of her depressed friends
(Note: Could Kassav's drummer play that pleasant bridge?)
There's no fun in all their Caribbean shit
No frizzy asshole hair-dressed like Robert Smith

Let the song end with the third shotgun blast for no particular reason.