The year was 1963 We toured through France My thumb and me We yankees then Were seen as friends And so I bummed my way One summer day in St. Tropez
Outside Toulon an XKE On some blue highway Stopped for me The driver's seat Held blonde Brigitte With whom I parled Francais One summer day in St. Tropez
And at her villa I met Marcello And other distingues Of cinema francais That poolside star Noticed my guitar And my shyness flew away When she asked me to play
Could it have been My naive face? My Martin in Its cardboard case? I tuned the strings Played some Jobim My hostess to repay That summer day in St. Tropez