Grandma's Kitchen

Paroles de « Grandma's Kitchen »

Verse 1

On Sunday mornings, Grandma’s place, we all gather in,
Six square meters of fun, the kitchen's where we begin,
Her skillet sizzles, onions, garlic, filling up the air,
Grandma’s cooking, everyone’s, got nothing to compare.

Verse 2

Copper pots clank, melodies, the radio plays,
In the corner, a jazz tune, with trumpet’s lively praise,
Everyone’s up, dancing to the beat, no room to hide,
Funk and smiles, our hearts in every tune inside.

Chorus

Sunday, Sunday morning, in Grandma’s kitchen we’re free,
With pots clanging loud, and every note, you can see,
In six square meters, the best dance floor we’ve found,
Sunday, Sunday morning, our hearts beat as one,

Chorus

Sunday, Sunday morning, in Grandma’s kitchen we’re free,
With pots clanging loud, and every note, you can see,
In six square meters, the best dance floor we’ve found,
Sunday, Sunday morning, our hearts beat as one.

Bridge

From the stove to the radio, the music’s all we need,
In this small space, joy flows, our spirits can’t be freed,
Every face, every laugh, the rhythm’s just begun,
In six square meters, we’re all dancing under one sun.

Outro

Sunday morning magic, in Grandma’s little space,
Funky beats and laughter, a Sunday’s perfect trace,
With copper pots and melodies, we’re all in this groove,
Sunday, Sunday morning, in Grandma’s kitchen, we’re moving.