Translation of the song lyrics Rose Blanche - Aristide Bruant

Rose Blanche (original)

Elle avait sous sa toque de martre,
Sur la butte Montmartre,
Un p’tit air innocent.
On l’appelait rose, elle?
Tait belle,
A' sentait bon la fleur nouvelle,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Elle avait pas connu son p?
Re,
Elle avait p’us d’m?
Re,
Et depuis 1900,
A' d’meurait chez sa vieille a?
Eule
O?
Qu’a' s'?
Levait comme?
A, toute seule,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
A' travaillait d?
J?
Pour vivre
Et les soirs de givre,
Dans l’froid noir et gla?
Ant,
Son p’tit fichu sur les?
Paules,
A' rentrait par la rue des Saules,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Elle voyait dans les nuit gel?
Es,
La nappe?
Toil?
E,
Et la lune en croissant
Qui brillait, blanche et fatidique
Sur la p’tite croix d’la basilique,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
L'?
T?, par les chauds cr?
Puscules,
A rencontr?
Jules,
Qu'?
Tait si caressant,
Qu’a' restait la soir?
E enti?
Re,
Avec lui pr?
S du vieux cimeti?
Re,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Et je p’tit Jules?
Tait d’la tierce
Qui soutient la gerce,
Aussi l’adolescent,
Voyant qu’elle marchait pantre,
D’un coup d’surin lui troua l’ventre,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Quand ils l’ont couch?
Sur la planche,
Elle?
Tait toute blanche,
M?
Me qu’en l’ensevelissant,
Les croque-morts disaient qu’la pauv' gosse
?
Tait crev?
L’soir de sa noce,
Rue Saint-Vincent.
Elle avait une belle toque de martre,
Sur la butte Montmartre,
Un p’tit air innocent.
On l’appelait rose, elle?
Tait belle,
A' sentait bon la fleur nouvelle,
Rue Saint-Vincent.

(translation)

She had under her sable hat,
On the Montmartre hill,
A little innocent look.
We called her pink, didn't she?
You were beautiful,
A' smelled good of the new flower,
Saint Vincent Street.
She hadn't known her p?
D,
She had few m?
D,
And since 1900,
A' was dying at his old a's?
Eule
Where?
What's up?
Was lifting like?
A, all alone,
Saint Vincent Street.
A' worked from
I
To live
And on frosty evenings,
In the black and cold cold?
Ant,
His little fichu on the?
Pauls,
A' came in by Rue des Saules,
Saint Vincent Street.
She saw in the freezing night?
Is,
The tablecloth?
Web?
E,
And the moon crescent
That shone, white and fateful
On the small cross of the basilica,
Saint Vincent Street.
L'?
T?, by the hot cr?
Pimples,
Met?
Jules,
What?
Was so caressing,
What was left tonight?
E enti?
D,
With him pr?
S of the old cemetery?
D,
Saint Vincent Street.
And I little Jules?
Was of the third
Who sustains the chap,
Also the teenager
Seeing that she walked panting,
Suddenly, he pierced his stomach,
Saint Vincent Street.
When did they put him down?
On Plate,
She?
Was all white,
M?
Me that by burying it,
The undertakers said that the poor kid
?
Was it flat?
On his wedding night,
Saint Vincent Street.
She had a nice sable hat,
On the Montmartre hill,
A little innocent look.
We called her pink, didn't she?
You were beautiful,
A' smelled good of the new flower,
Saint Vincent Street.