Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ces gens-là, artist - Ange. Album song Best Of, in the genre Эстрада
Date of issue: 25.05.2015
Record label: Mercury
Song language: French
Ces gens-là(original) |
D’abord; |
d’abord |
Y’a l’an, lui qu’est comme un melon |
Lui qu’a un gros nez |
Vu qui sais plus son nom, Monsieur |
Tellement qui boit |
Tellement qu’il a bu |
Qui fait rien de ses dix doigts |
Mais lui qui n’en peut plus |
Lui qu’est compltement cuit |
Et qui se prend pour le roi |
Qui se saole toutes les nuits |
Avec du mauvais vin |
Mais qu’on retrouve matin |
Dans l’glise qui roupille |
Raide comme une saillie |
Blanc comme un cierge de Pques |
Et puis qui balbutie |
Et qu’a l’oeil qui divague |
Faut vous dire Monsieur |
Que chez ces gens-l |
On ne pense pas, Monsieur |
On ne pense pas |
On prie |
Et puis y a l’autre |
Des carottes dans les cheveux |
Qu’a jamais vu un peigne |
Qu’est mchant comme une teigne |
Mme qu’il donnerait sa chemise |
A des pauvres gens heureux |
Qu’a mari la Denise |
Une fille de la ville |
Enfin d’une autre ville |
Et que c’est pas fini |
Qui fait ses petites affaires |
Avec son p’tit chapeau |
Avec son p’tit manteau |
Avec sa p’tite auto |
Qu’aimerait bien avoir l’air |
Mais qu’a pas l’air du tout |
Faut pas jouer les riches |
Quand on a pas le sou |
Faut vous dire Monsieur |
Que chez ces gens~l |
On ne vit pas, Monsieur |
On ne vit pas |
On triche! |
Et puis y’a les autres |
La mre qui n’dit rien |
Ou bien n’importe quoi |
Et du soir au matin |
Sous sa belle gueule d’aptre |
Et dans son cadre en bois |
Y’a la moustache du pre |
Qu’est mort d’une glissade |
Et qui regarde son troupeau |
Bouffer la soupe froide |
Et a fait des grands (guff) |
Et a fait des grands (guff) |
Et puis y’a la tout’vieille |
Qu’en finit pas de vibrer |
Et qu’on attend qu’elle crve |
Vu qu' c’est elle qu’a l’oseille |
Et qu’on coute mme pas |
C' que ses pauvres mains racontent |
Faut vous dire, Monsieur |
Que chez ces gens-l |
On ne cause pas, Monsieur |
On ne cause pas |
On compte |
Mais il est tard, Monsieur |
Y faut que j’rentre chez moi |
(Texte: Jacques Brel) |
Editions POURCHENEL (Bruxelles) |
(translation) |
First; |
first of all |
There's the year, he's like a melon |
He has a big nose |
Seen who knows his name, sir |
So much who drinks |
So much he drank |
Who does nothing with his ten fingers |
But he who can't take it anymore |
He who is completely cooked |
And who thinks he's the king |
Who gets drunk every night |
With bad wine |
But that we find in the morning |
In the sleeping church |
Stiff as a ledge |
White as an Easter candle |
And then who stammers |
And what has the wandering eye |
Must tell you sir |
That in these people |
We don't think, sir |
We don't think |
We pray |
And then there's the other |
Carrots in your hair |
What has a comb ever seen |
What is wicked like a ringworm |
Even if he would give away his shirt |
To poor happy people |
Denise married |
A city girl |
Finally from another city |
And it's not over |
who does his business |
With his little hat |
With his little coat |
With his little car |
What would you like to look like |
But what does it look like |
Don't play the rich |
When you don't have a penny |
Must tell you sir |
That in these people |
We don't live, sir |
We don't live |
We cheat! |
And then there are the others |
The mother who says nothing |
Or anything |
And from evening to morning |
Beneath his beautiful apostle's face |
And in its wooden frame |
There's the father's mustache |
Who died of a slip |
And watching his flock |
Eat cold soup |
And did great (guff) |
And did great (guff) |
And then there's the old one |
That never stops vibrating |
And we wait for her to die |
Since she's got the sorrel |
And that we don't even cost |
What his poor hands tell |
Must tell you, sir |
That in these people |
We don't talk, sir |
We don't talk |
We count |
But it's late, sir |
I have to go home |
(Text: Jacques Brel) |
Editions POURCHENEL (Brussels) |