Translation of the song lyrics Fanfaron - Les Negresses Vertes

Fanfaron (original)

Il a le coeur sur la main et la main sur le coeur
Oui mais quand il rit on dirait qu’il meurt.
Il s’habille d’un rien, sait se rendre élégant
Devant son miroir des heures se mirant.
A quoi bon se presser, on lui garde sa place
Arrivé au café il s’asseoit en terrasse.
Fanfaron bras cassé
Bras cassé Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron
Grand maq’reau Fanfaron
Fanfaron baratin
Baratin Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron
Il a bien vite fait de trouver ses complices
Nul ne peut contenir sa fièvre narratrice.
Personne n’est parfait aime-t-il à répéter
Car il voit en ses défauts autant de qualités.
Et les heures défilent, il en oublie sa maison
Le dernier qui parle a toujours sa raison.
Qui donc s’explique avec les mains
Plus embroilleur qu’un italien.
Qui pense que sa femme, ses enfants
Ne l’attendent plus et prend son temps.
Fanfaron bras cassé
Bras cassé Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron
Grand maq’reau Fanfaron
Fanfaron baratin
Baratin Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron
S’il tient bon l’anisette qu’il boit en compagnie
Ses amis le respectent pour son coeur, son esprit.
Homme de tradition à la sieste dévote
Voilà qu’il pense à son retour quand ses yeux le picotent.
Le vieux lion se lève, abrège son séjour
S’en va face au soleil, tout heureux de ce jour.
Qui dit le dimanche est sacré
Sans voir ni messe ni curé.
Qui est ce que le soleil sonnait
A son grand rire d’amitié.
Fanfaron bras cassé
Bras cassé Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron
Grand maq’reau Fanfaron
Fanfaron baratin
Baratin Fanfaron c’est Fanfaron

(translation)

He has his heart on his hand and his hand on his heart
Yes but when he laughs it looks like he dies.
He dresses casually, knows how to make himself elegant
In front of his mirror hours mirroring themselves.
What's the point of hurrying, we'll save his place
Arrived at the cafe he sits on the terrace.
Braggart broken arm
Broken arm Fanfaron is Fanfaron
Big maq'reau Braggart
Boastful spiel
Fanfaron spiel is Fanfaron
He quickly found his accomplices
No one can contain his storytelling fever.
No one is perfect he likes to repeat
For he sees in his faults so many qualities.
And the hours go by, he forgets his house
The last to speak is always right.
Who explains himself with his hands
More confusing than an Italian.
Who thinks his wife, children
Don't wait for him anymore and take his time.
Braggart broken arm
Broken arm Fanfaron is Fanfaron
Big maq'reau Braggart
Boastful spiel
Fanfaron spiel is Fanfaron
If he holds on to the anisette he drinks in company
His friends respect him for his heart, his mind.
Devout Siesta Traditional Man
There he thinks of his return when his eyes tingle.
The old lion rises, shortens his stay
Goes away facing the sun, all happy for this day.
Who says Sunday is holy
Without seeing mass or priest.
Who the sun was ringing
To his great friendly laugh.
Braggart broken arm
Broken arm Fanfaron is Fanfaron
Big maq'reau Braggart
Boastful spiel
Fanfaron spiel is Fanfaron