Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mon pote le gitan, artist - Marcel Mouloudji. Date of issue: 14.12.2008
Song language: French
Mon pote le gitan(original) |
| Mon pote le gitan c´est un gars curieux |
| Une gueule toute noire, des carreaux tout bleus |
| Il reste des heures sans dire un seul mot |
| Assis près du poêle au fond du bistrot |
| C´gars-là une roulotte s´promène dans sa tête |
| Et quand elle voyage jamais ne s´arrête |
| Des tas d´paysages sortent de ses yeux |
| Mon pote le gitan c´est un gars curieux |
| Mon pote le gitan, c´est pas un marrant |
| Et dans notre bistrot personne le comprend |
| Comme tous ces gars-là il a sa guitare |
| Une guitare crasseuse qui vous colle le noir |
| Quand y s´met à jouer la vieille roulotte |
| Galope dans sa tête, les joueurs de belote |
| S´arrêtent et plus rien… on a mal en dedans |
| Mon pote le gitan c´est pas un marrant |
| Mon pote le gitan un jour est parti |
| Et Dieu seul sait où il ballade sa vie |
| Ce type là était un grand musicien |
| Ça j´en étais sûr, moi je l´sentais bien |
| Le tôlier m´a dit qu´on est venu l´chercher |
| Un grand music-hall voulait l´acheter |
| Mon pot´ le gitan il a refusé |
| Un haussement d´épaules et il s´est taillé? |
| J´ai eu l´impression de perdre un ami |
| Et pourtant c´gars-là ne m´a jamais rien dit |
| Mais il m´a laissé un coin de sa roulotte |
| Et dans ma petite tête j´ai du rêve qui trotte |
| Sa drôle de musique en moi est restée |
| Quand je pense à lui, m´arrive de chanter |
| Toi sacré gitan qui sentait l´cafard |
| Au fond ta musique était pleine d´espoir |
| (translation) |
| My friend the gypsy is a curious guy |
| An all-black face, all-blue squares |
| He goes hours without saying a single word |
| Sitting by the stove in the back of the bistro |
| This guy, a trailer is walking around in his head |
| And when she travels never stops |
| Lots of landscapes come out of his eyes |
| My friend the gypsy is a curious guy |
| My friend the gypsy, it is not a funny |
| And in our bistro nobody understands it |
| Like all these guys he has his guitar |
| A grimy guitar that sticks the black on you |
| When it starts to play the old trailer |
| Galloping in his head, belote players |
| Stop and nothing... it hurts inside |
| My friend the gypsy is not a funny |
| My homie the gypsy one day is gone |
| And only God knows where he wanders his life |
| This guy was a great musician |
| I was sure of that, I felt good about it |
| The sheet metal worker told me that we came to get him |
| A big music hall wanted to buy it |
| My friend the gypsy he refused |
| A shrug and he's cut? |
| I felt like I lost a friend |
| And yet that guy never said anything to me |
| But he left me a corner of his trailer |
| And in my little head I have dreams running around |
| His funny music in me stayed |
| When I think of him, I happen to sing |
| You holy gypsy who smelled of cockroaches |
| Deep down your music was full of hope |