Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Un golfeur , by - Lynda Lemay. Song from the album Blessée, in the genre ПопRelease date: 02.09.2010
Record label: Warner Music Canada
Song language: French
Un golfeur(original) |
| Il avait les mains larges |
| Les épaules carrées |
| Il avait un visage |
| Maturés, basané |
| Je n’avais a me plaindre |
| D’aucunes fautes de gout |
| Tiré à quatre épingles |
| Il arrivait chez nous |
| J’aimais son apparence |
| Dans ses chemises en lin |
| Il me rappelais je pense |
| Mes romans Arlequin |
| Un soir visant mes hanches |
| Il me tendit un bras |
| Et l’rebord de sa manche |
| Du coup se retroussa |
| Adieu le grand coup d’foudre |
| J’ai vu que son bronzage |
| N’allait que d’la main au coude |
| Et du coup au visage |
| Adieux homme de rêve |
| Ah non mais quel horreur |
| J’suis passé a deux lèvres |
| D’embrasser un golfeur |
| Ca s’prend pour des athlètes |
| Mais c’est mou des abdos |
| Ca roule en voiturette |
| CA manque de libido |
| C’est bein juste excité |
| Deux mains sur leur bâton |
| A essayer de viser |
| Des trous border d’gazon |
| Ca s’habille en jaune pale |
| Ca s’tiens le p’tit corp droit |
| Ca s’retrouve entre mâle |
| Ca aime un peu trop ca |
| Ca s’attarde au vestiaire |
| Ca s’compare le putter |
| Puis sa va boire d’la bière |
| Puis c’est dont d’bonne humeur |
| Ca s’leve à l’heure des poules |
| Pour fuire leurs p’tites famille |
| Jusqu’au soir ou sa saoule et puis qu’sa veut plus rvenir |
| Ca s’redonne rendez vous pour le lendemain matin |
| Pour un autre 18 trous |
| Entre très bon copains |
| Ca r’viens a contre cœur vers leurs femme debout |
| Qui dit «As tu vu l’heure «et puis qui fait l’marabout |
| Ca fait semblant d’pas voir la jaquette en satin |
| Qu’elle porte pour faire valoir |
| Ses jolis petit seins |
| Sa attend qu’la crise passe |
| Puis sa tombe endormis |
| Ca rêve a leurs club house |
| Ca reve a leurs caddies … |
| (translation) |
| He had wide hands |
| Square shoulders |
| He had a face |
| Matured, swarthy |
| I had nothing to complain about |
| No faults of taste |
| Dressed to the nines |
| He was coming to our house |
| I liked his appearance |
| In his linen shirts |
| He remembered I think |
| My Harlequin novels |
| One night aiming at my hips |
| He held out his arm to me |
| And the edge of his sleeve |
| Suddenly rolled up |
| Farewell to the great thunderbolt |
| I saw that her tan |
| Only went from hand to elbow |
| And hit in the face |
| farewell dream man |
| Oh no but how awful |
| I went to two lips |
| To kiss a golfer |
| It is taken for athletes |
| But it's soft abs |
| It's riding a cart |
| CA lack of libido |
| It's well just excited |
| Two hands on their stick |
| Trying to aim |
| Holes lined with grass |
| It dresses in pale yellow |
| It's holding the little body straight |
| It is found between male |
| I like it a little too much |
| It lingers in the locker room |
| It compares to the putter |
| Then its going to drink beer |
| Then it's in a good mood |
| It gets up at hen time |
| To flee their little families |
| Until the evening when he gets drunk and then he doesn't want to come back |
| It makes another appointment for the next morning |
| For another 18 holes |
| Between very good friends |
| It comes reluctantly to their wives standing |
| Who says "Have you seen the time" and then who does the marabout |
| It pretends not to see the satin jacket |
| That she wears to assert |
| Her pretty little breasts |
| Its waiting for the crisis to pass |
| Then her falls asleep |
| It dreams of their clubhouses |
| It dreams of their caddies... |