In Austria, where I was raised, A girl like me was highly praised For entertaining folks at court with song. But ever since I've been in France, I barely get a second glance. Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?
The rumors fly; they say of me That I spend far too lavishly And I should go back home where I belong. If you were tied to Louis, you Would know why I do what I do. Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?
And so if I say "Fiddlesticks!" To those who scorn my politics, I add, "Just wait and let me sound the gong." But people keep on splitting hairs, Accusing me of cheap affairs. Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?
What is there to hide Besides my wounded pride? How COULD they be so mean To send me TO the guillotine?
I hear that people didn’t take It well when told to eat some cake Instead of bread; that didn’t please the throng. A few faux pas and folks see red And smear your name and want your head! Is what I’ve done so really all that wrong?