Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song L'hécatombe, artist - Georges Brassens. Date of issue: 29.12.2011
Song language: French
L'hécatombe(original) |
| Au marché de Briv'-la-Gaillarde |
| À propos de bottes d’oignons |
| Quelques douzaines de gaillardes |
| Se crêpaient un jour le chignon |
| À pied, à cheval, en voiture |
| Les gendarmes mal inspirés |
| Vinrent pour tenter l’aventure |
| D’interrompre l'échauffourée |
| Or, sous tous les cieux sans vergogne |
| C’est un usage bien établi |
| Dès qu’il s’agit d’rosser les cognes |
| Tout le monde se réconcilie |
| Ces furies perdant tout' mesure |
| Se ruèrent sur les guignols |
| Et donnèrent je vous l’assure |
| Un spectacle assez croquignol |
| En voyant ces braves pandores |
| Être à deux doigts de succomber |
| Moi, j’bichais car je les adore |
| Sous la forme de macchabées |
| De la mansarde où je réside |
| J’exitais les farouches bras |
| Des mégères gendarmicides |
| En criant: «Hip, hip, hip, hourra!» |
| Frénétique l’une d’elles attache |
| Le vieux maréchal des logis |
| Et lui fait crier: «Mort aux vaches |
| Mort aux lois, vive l’anarchie!» |
| Une autre fourre avec rudesse |
| Le crâne d’un de ses lourdauds |
| Entre ses gigantesques fesses |
| Qu’elle serre comme un étau |
| La plus grasse de ses femelles |
| Ouvrant son corsage dilaté |
| Matraque à grand coup de mamelles |
| Ceux qui passent à sa portée |
| Ils tombent, tombent, tombent, tombent |
| Et selon les avis compétents |
| Il paraît que cette hécatombe |
| Fut la plus bell' de tous les temps |
| Jugeant enfin que leurs victimes |
| Avaient eu leur content de gnons |
| Ces furies comme outrage ultime |
| En retournant à leurs oignons |
| Ces furies à peine si j’ose |
| Le dire tellement c’est bas |
| Leur auraient mêm' coupé les choses |
| Par bonheur ils n’en avait pas |
| Leur auraient mêm' coupé les choses |
| Par bonheur ils n’en avait pas |
| (translation) |
| At the Briv'-la-Gaillarde market |
| About Bunches of Onions |
| A few dozen galliards |
| One day crippled the bun |
| On foot, on horseback, by car |
| Misguided cops |
| Came to try the adventure |
| To break up the scuffle |
| Now under all shameless skies |
| It's a well-established usage |
| As soon as it is a question of thrashing the cognes |
| Everyone makes up |
| These furies losing everything |
| Rushed on the horns |
| And gave I assure you |
| A pretty croquignol show |
| Seeing these brave Pandoras |
| Being close to succumbing |
| Me, I was pissed off because I adore them |
| In the form of stiffs |
| From the garret where I reside |
| I exited the fierce arms |
| Gendarmicidal shrews |
| Shouting, "Hip, hip, hip, hooray!" |
| Frantically one of them attaches |
| The old sergeant |
| And make him scream, "Death to the cows |
| Death to the laws, long live anarchy!” |
| Another shove roughly |
| The skull of one of his heavyweights |
| Between her gigantic buttocks |
| That she squeezes like a vise |
| The fattest of his females |
| Opening her dilated bodice |
| Udder Blow Club |
| Those who pass within his reach |
| They're falling, falling, falling, falling |
| And according to competent opinions |
| It seems that this carnage |
| Was the most beautiful of all time |
| Finally judging that their victims |
| Had had their fill of gnons |
| These furies as ultimate outrage |
| Going back to their onions |
| These furies hardly if I dare |
| To say it so low |
| Would have even cut things for them |
| Luckily they didn't have any. |
| Would have even cut things for them |
| Luckily they didn't have any. |