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Cheap Thrills & Espadrilles

by Exit From The Auditorium

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1.
Pas de Regrets, Moliets 04:00
lyrics
Whiling the time away In this rundown seaside town Where the streets are paved with pine needles Courtesy is thin on the ground Where do all these women come from And how'd they get so tall You know It's hard to impress with a pigeon chest So they don't see me at all Mais pas de regrets, Moliets Is that rain on a tin roof Or the sizzling of food I think there's someone in the kitchen Something smells good There's a hole in my flip flop And a whole lot more But the metaphor is wearing thin My feet are just fucking sore Mais pas de regrets, Moliets Drinking in the local bar A guy says "what's your story" Well, how can I explain my life to you When it barely makes sense to me I don't know where I fit in But I'm not sure that it's here Among the rabbits and the wild pigs The cuckoos and the deer Mais pas de regrets, Moliets The guys wanna play basketball Half an hour and I'm dead It's first to nine, I'm at the three point line Let's put this game to bed You might think that I'm different But I'm really just the same With long hair and an Eastwood squint Like every fucker in this goddamn place Mais pas de regrets, Moliets Got stung in the face by a winged beast Well, I guess that's nature's whim But these weeds are victims of their own success So the strong don't always win Watching my sheets dance in the breeze A hawk hovers overhead It's like a low key episode of Twin Peaks Just based in France instead Mais pas de regrets, Moliets
2.
Jean-Marc 03:54
lyrics
My new boss, Jean Marc Is a dead ringer for Willem Defoe With side burns and a soul patch And a pouch of rolling tobacco In his hands that have been In the earth, in the soil In storms and in sunshine In all weathers they toil He says "today you're raking leaves" I reply "that's fine by me" All the while thinking it's the same shit Just in a different country And these two young French dudes Are both moody as fuck “Como ca va, comme ci comme ca” Load up The Gator, load up the truck I may be ten years older But that doesn't mean I’m a slob "You're a gardener with hay fever Why'd you ever choose this job" Well, I like my working mans suntan And the calluses on my hands Think I'm talking to myself here In a language no one understands Back to the cabin, 5pm It's been a long day and I'm beat Gazing at the Van Gogh on the wall A yellow house on a pale yellow street I turn to the chief who says "a de main" Drinking coffee from an old wine glass While Popeye the rheumy eyed feline Hunts a hacky sack in the grass
3.
Ce n'est Pas Trop Chaud (Le Soleil Sur Ma Peau) 03:36
lyrics
The plastic peppered beach Where the kids drink beer with peach And the tagged-up patisserie God knows what it all means I'm getting eaten alive By these motherfuckin’ mosquitos While the middle aged nudists sit And just sip on their mojitos Oh oh oh, oh oh oh Ce n'est pas trop chaud Ce n'est pas trop chaud Le soleil sur ma peau The hammock where I lay Is it me or the earth that sways Camper vans parked in the shade The hippy dream fifty years too late Thinking back to when I was a child Running wild, taking off my clothes And I would not leave the sea If there was sand between my toes Oh oh oh, oh oh oh Ce n'est pas trop chaud Ce n'est pas trop chaud Le soleil sur ma peau Fresh baguettes, guess it's time for lunch Get out your boules, let's play petanque Outside the seafood restaurants Where surfer dudes parade in their trunks And everyone here is on wheels If it feels good well let's go But I would rather use my feet Have a stroll take it nice and slow Oh oh oh, oh oh oh Ce n'est pas trop chaud Ce n'est pas trop chaud Le soleil sur ma peau By the shore the kites sure fly And there's a guy playing his hang drum As the clouds are painted lilac With the setting of the sun The skater boys are breaking bones Seasonaires are getting stoned Contorted wetsuits hang in windows Like decapitated ghosts Oh oh oh, oh oh oh Ce n'est pas trop chaud Ce n'est pas trop chaud Le soleil sur ma peau
4.
Night Market 04:39
lyrics
Strolling into town To watch the sun go down Just stand and look around At the lovers in silhouette Browsing the market place Through the crowd I see your face And the guy holding your waist Smiles gladly as you pirouette Two steps and you were gone So I stubbornly stumbled on And on through the throbbing throng That congests the night market There are knuckledusters and knives Among the stuff that no one buys And if our civilisation dies Will plastic be all that's left In their brightly coloured attire The African ladies perspire As they braid the curls that little blonde girls Wear in dainty barrettes There are Buddhas and driftwood lamps Che Guevara socks and pants And a band of neon tramps Stamping names on bronze bracelets How did they end up here Did they one day just disappear From their homes and a career To selling ivory chess sets As a kid I was never strong Got bargaining completely wrong I'd haggle up instead of down And pay more than they'd expect How much does kindness cost Can you mend a mind that's lost Find the line where our paths crossed In this place called Moliets Strolling into town To watch the sun go down Just stand and look around At the lovers in silhouette
5.
Au Revoir, Simone de Beauvoir 02:12
lyrics
Paris in spring What a wonderful thing I never met anyone quite as forgiving In the seventy-four years that I've been living Oh, au revoir Simone de Beauvoir Arguing in the university park Maybe you felt That you were not in my class The truth is you were so much better by far Oh, au revoir Simone de Beauvoir Thinking about our time At the Sorbonne Did I really believe that I was a Don Juan Multiple lovers but you were always the one Oh, au revoir Simone de Beauvoir The contract we signed Has been on my mind Second to none, you were one of a kind My time is at hand and your hand is in mine Oh, au revoir Simone de Beauvoir
6.
35 05:03
lyrics
Just ate a bowl of cornflakes Got my feet up on my guitar case I might just sit here and watch the rain fall Take a shower, make a phone call A few white hairs sprout from my beard Gonna shave ‘em all, make ‘em disappear Dry myself off, put on my kegs I look down and see I've got my fathers legs And I realise I'm thirty-five Thirty-five Some young guys wanna play bball They underestimate me cos I'm not too tall So I head to the court, start to show off But now my knees ache, I got a wheezy cough Kids stay up late, booze and blow I just want my bed, I want my pillow Why do I always feel so tired Drink too much coffee, I'm completely wired And I realise I'm thirty-five Thirty-five There's young women everywhere But they don't seem to care that I've still got my hair They wanna know do I have a career Do I own my own home, where will I be in a year I wrote a hundred songs and not one hit I never thought I'd say I'm too old for this shit But not everybody's dreams come true What can you do, what can you do When you realise you're thirty-five Thirty-five

credits

released December 30, 2016

Words, music, guitar and vocals by Jay Fynn

Recorded at Artspace Studio with Tom Gillieron

Mastered by Dídac Corbí

Cover image by Jay Fynn, with Thomas Prolze and Popeye

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Jay Fynn UK

Lo-Fi Indie Folk Singer Songwriter

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