Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Nos Vieux, artist - Renaud. Album song Rouge Sang, in the genre Эстрада
Date of issue: 28.09.2006
Record label: Parlophone (France)
Song language: French
Nos Vieux(original) |
Ils vivent au bord d’la banlieue |
un petit coin silencieux |
On y va qu’un dimanche sur deux |
Oblig? |
s un peu |
Des fleurs parfois ca peut, |
ensoleiller les lieux |
Et pour le p? |
re, un p’tit condrieu |
est ce qu’y seront heureux? |
Le regard toujours malicieux |
le geste gracieux |
Grande ame, gentil monsieur |
vivent? |
petit feu |
Et si l’amour c’est de l’hebreu |
o surement pas pour eux |
entre frangins, franginnes c est affectueux |
on les appelle «nos vieux» |
La m? |
re? |
les cheveux |
entre le gris, le bleu |
Le ciel du Nord nous dit quand il pleut |
au fond de ses yeux |
C’est un vrai cordon bleu |
ses pates ses omelettes aux oeufs |
je les mangerai comme un bien-heureux |
sur la tete d’un pouyeux |
Le regard parfois ombrageux |
inquiet, soucieux |
Le petit bonhomme nous emeut |
par son esprit fascesieux |
Au moment pourtant des adieux |
le coeur est douloureux |
Plein d’amour pour ces gens si precieux |
qu’on appelle nos vieux |
Il m’arrive meme quand je suis loin d’eux |
de prier le bon dieu |
ce grand mystere planqu? |
dans les cieux |
des gens malheureux |
pour qu’y offre? |
ses amoureux |
l’eternit? |
ou mieux |
et qui benit sur ces etres merveilleux |
qu on appelle nos vieux |
(Merci? Aurelybad pour cettes paroles) |
(translation) |
They live on the edge of the suburbs |
a little quiet corner |
We only go there every other Sunday |
Required? |
s a little |
Flowers sometimes it can, |
brighten up the place |
And for the p? |
re, a little condrieu |
will they be happy there? |
The always mischievous gaze |
the graceful gesture |
Great soul, kind sir |
live? |
little fire |
And if love is Hebrew |
definitely not for them |
between brothers, sisters it's affectionate |
we call them "our old people" |
The m? |
D? |
the hair |
between grey, blue |
The northern sky tells us when it's raining |
deep in his eyes |
It's a real cordon bleu |
his pasta his egg omelettes |
I will eat them like a blessed |
on the head of a lout |
The sometimes shady gaze |
worried, anxious |
The little guy moves us |
by his mischievous mind |
Yet at the time of farewell |
the heart is aching |
Lots of love for these precious people |
that we call our old |
It happens to me even when I'm away from them |
to pray to the good god |
this great hidden mystery? |
in the skies |
unhappy people |
for what does it offer? |
his lovers |
eternity? |
or better |
and who blesses on these marvelous beings |
we call our old people |
(Thank you? Aurelybad for these lyrics) |