My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist 

In pre-war Paris 

Smuggling bombs for the underground. 

And she met my father 

At a fete in Aix-en-Provence. 

He was disguised as a Russian cadet 

in the employ of the Axis. 

And there in the half-light 

Of the provincial midnight 

To a lone concertina 

They drank in cantinas 

And toasted to Edith Piaf 

And the fall of the Reich. 



My sister was born in a hovel in Burgundy 

And left for the cattle 

But later was found by a communist 

Who'd deserted his ranks 

To follow his dream 

To start up a punk rock band in South Carolina. 

I get letters sometimes. 

They bought a plantation 

She weeds the tobacco 

He offends the nation 

And they write, "Don't be a stranger, y'hear." 

"Sincerely, your sister." 



So my parents had me 

To the disgust of the prostitutes 

On a bed in a brothel. 

Surprisingly raised with tender care 

'Til the money got tight 

And they bet me away 

To a blind brigadier in a game 

Of high stakes canasta. 

But he made me a sailor 

On his brigadier ship fleet. 

I know every yardarm 

From main mast to jib sheet. 

But sometimes I long to be landlocked 

And to work in a bakery.