Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Madame Ivonne, artist - Roberto Goyeneche. Date of issue: 09.04.2017
Song language: Spanish
Madame Ivonne(original) |
| Mamuasel Ivonne era una pebeta |
| Que en el barrio posta de viejo Montmartre |
| Con su pinta brava de alegre griseta |
| Animó la fiesta de Les Quatre Arts |
| Era la papusa del barrio latino |
| Que supo a los puntos del verso inspirar |
| Pero fue que un día llegó un argentino |
| Y a la francesita la hizo suspirar |
| Madame Ivonne, la Cruz del Sur fue como el sino |
| Madame Ivonne, fue como el sino de tu suerte |
| Alondra gris, tu dolor me conmueve, tu pena es de nieve |
| Madame Ivonne |
| Han pasa’o diez años que zarpó de Francia |
| Mamuasel Ivonne hoy solo es Madame |
| La que va a ver que todo quedó en la distancia |
| Con ojos muy tristes bebe su champán |
| Ya no es la papusa del Barrio Latino |
| Ya no es la mistonga florcita de lis |
| Ya nada le queda ni aquel argentino |
| Que entre tango y mate la alzó de París |
| Madame Ivonne, la Cruz del Sur fue como el sino |
| Madame Ivonne, fue como el sino de tu suerte |
| Alondra gris, tu dolor me conmueve, tu pena es de nieve |
| Madame Ivonne |
| (translation) |
| Mamuasel Ivonne was a pebeta |
| That in the post neighborhood of old Montmartre |
| With his brave pint of cheerful griseta |
| She animated the Les Quatre Arts party |
| She was the papusa of the Latin neighborhood |
| She who knew how to inspire verse points |
| But it was that one day an Argentine arrived |
| And she made the French girl sigh |
| Madame Ivonne, the Southern Cross was like fate |
| Madame Ivonne, it was like the fate of your luck |
| Gray lark, your pain moves me, your sorrow is like snow |
| Madame Yvonne |
| Ten years have passed since she sailed from France |
| Mamuasel Ivonne today is only Madame |
| The one who is going to see that everything was in the distance |
| With very sad eyes she drinks her champagne |
| She is no longer the papusa of the Latin Quarter |
| It is no longer the mistonga florcita de lis |
| Nothing is left for him, not even that Argentine |
| That between tango and mate she raised her from Paris |
| Madame Ivonne, the Southern Cross was like fate |
| Madame Ivonne, she was like the fate of your luck |
| Gray lark, your pain moves me, your sorrow is like snow |
| Madame Yvonne |