On a dark and tempestuous après midi
I was safe in La Maison
But this British obsession with afternoon tea
Makes people lose all their reason
I begged them to leave alone me with my book
They promised me I would have fun
One glance at the rain clouds was all that it took
The nightmare had surely begun
It's The Picnic, it's The Picnic
They’re making me eat en fresh air
It is raining, it is pouring
But they're English so they do not care
We walked through the storm with our hampers in hand
Leaving behind La Maison
I tried to protest, I did not understand
Surely this was the wrong season?
I fumbled my way through the hail and the fog
Where on God’s earth could this be?
Someone had brought both a child and a dog
Someone had packed a frizbee
It's The Picnic, it's The Picnic
Don’t make me sit in a deck chair
I am frightened, I am freezing
But they're English so they do not care
We finally found a lone tree in a field
Far far from La Maison
We opened our Tupperware, what would it yield?
Onto the mud of the Paysan
Scotch eggs and sandwiches wrapped in tin foil
Tossed on an old tartan blanket
But before I could sit down I had to recoil
As the weight of the sausage rolls sank it
It's The Picnic, it's The Picnic
Don’t make me eat cold Camembert
I am angry, I am furious
But they’re English so they do not care
I ran for my life with no food and no drink
Back, back to La Maison
Wrapped up in a cagoule in bubblegum pink
Oh what a sad sight to gaze on
Led by the glow of this hideous mac
Some strangers had forced me to borrow
The picnickers followed me all the way back
Laughing out loud at my sorrow
They pushed their way in, I had nowhere to hide
Their eyes were so heartless and hollow
Crowding in closer, they hugged me and cried
‘We’ll come back to get you tomorrow!’
I begged them, don’t come back tomorrow
Oh the Picnic, oh The Picnic
Don’t make me put on my beachwear
I don’t want to, you can’t do it
I am busy, I’m washing my hair
But they’re English so they did not care
Le Picnic c’est un grand nightmare
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