Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Mon slip , by - Têtes Raides. Song from the album Chamboultou, in the genre ПопRelease date: 31.12.1997
Record label: BMG Rights Management (France)
Song language: French
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Mon slip , by - Têtes Raides. Song from the album Chamboultou, in the genre ПопMon slip(original) |
| Parce qu’il n’attachait pas son chapeau |
| Les marécages |
| L’ont avalé tout cru tout chaud |
| Dans les nuages |
| C’est bien normal car son chapeau c'était un corbeau |
| Profitant de l’orage |
| Il avait rendez-vous |
| Aux peupliers sauvages |
| Maintenant qu’j’ai l’crâne tout rasibus |
| On pourrait croire on pourrait croire |
| Qu’les corbeaux ça vit dans les gares |
| Je n’veux pas être de ce départ |
| Si toutes les fleurs |
| Portaient un nom |
| On t’appellerait |
| Fille de rien |
| Les corps sont beaux |
| Sans les âmes |
| Sur les gammes |
| Les corbeaux |
| Tachent le large paysage |
| Du concerto des chapeaux |
| Parce qu’il laissait flotter son manteau |
| Les feux de glace |
| Dans le blizzard des hauts-fourneaux |
| Plus une trace |
| Que voulez-vous mais son manteau c'était une peau de vache |
| L’herbe de carne du troupeau |
| Qui fricotait du rififi |
| La rixe lui brûlait la peau |
| Maintenant qu’j’ai l’poitrail dépourvu |
| N’allez pas croire n’allez pas croire |
| Qu’les chameaux ça traîne pas les bars |
| Quand ils ne sont pas au placard |
| Parce qu’il n’enlaçait jamais ses croquenots |
| Ah misère |
| Le ciel c’est la terre craquelée |
| Et mes chaussons c’est du papier |
| Quelle connerie mais ces godasses en croco |
| Qui s’font la belle |
| Mais on aurait dit qu’j’aurais rien dit |
| Vu que je marche à côté d’elles |
| Maintenant qu’j’galope nus pieds sur l’eau |
| On pourrait croire on pourrait croire |
| Qu’les caïmans ont faim d’me voir |
| Chacun trouvera son histoire |
| Cette fleur |
| Porte un nom |
| On l’appelle |
| Fille de rien |
| Les corps sont beaux |
| Sans les âmes |
| Sans nos armes |
| Nos oripeaux |
| Et légère, passagère |
| Je plongerai dans les eaux |
| Ça compte pas, c’est dégueulasse |
| On nous a piqué nos enfances |
| Ça compte pas cette fois-là |
| On m’avait pas prévenu tout ça |
| N’y comptez pas, j’vous l’dirai pas |
| Où l’on a planqué les morceaux |
| Nos allumettes et nos copeaux |
| J’vous l’dirai pas, j’vous l’dirai pas |
| Et dans les flammes des corbeaux |
| Des peaux de vache et des crocos |
| Danse l’insouciance |
| Mais si Mon Slip est en kangourou |
| Soit circonspect ou bien alors |
| Reprends ton vieux clacos en or |
| Mon vieux corbeau et moi j’arrête tout |
| (translation) |
| Because he didn't tie his hat |
| The swamps |
| Swallowed it raw while hot |
| In the clouds |
| It's quite normal because his hat was a raven |
| Enjoying the storm |
| He had a date |
| To the wild poplars |
| Now that I have the skull all rasibus |
| We could believe we could believe |
| That crows live in stations |
| I don't want to be from this departure |
| If all the flowers |
| Had a name |
| We would call you |
| Daughter of nothing |
| Bodies are beautiful |
| without the souls |
| On the ranges |
| The Crows |
| Stain the wide landscape |
| From the concerto of hats |
| Because he let his coat float |
| The Ice Fires |
| In the Blast Furnace Blizzard |
| Not a trace |
| What do you want but his coat was cowhide |
| Herd Meat Grass |
| Who was cooking rififi |
| The brawl burned his skin |
| Now that my chest is devoid |
| Don't believe don't believe |
| Let the camels not hang around the bars |
| When they're not in the closet |
| Because he never hugged his croquenots |
| Oh misery |
| The sky is the cracked earth |
| And my slippers are paper |
| What bullshit but these crocodile shoes |
| Who make themselves beautiful |
| But it looked like I wouldn't have said anything |
| As I walk beside them |
| Now that I'm galloping barefoot on the water |
| We could believe we could believe |
| That the caimans are hungry to see me |
| Everyone will find their story |
| This flower |
| Has a name |
| It is called |
| Daughter of nothing |
| Bodies are beautiful |
| without the souls |
| Without our weapons |
| Our tinsel |
| And light, fleeting |
| I will dive into the waters |
| It doesn't count, it's disgusting |
| We were robbed of our childhoods |
| It doesn't count this time |
| I was not warned about all this |
| Don't count on it, I won't tell you |
| Where we stashed the pieces |
| Our matches and shavings |
| I won't tell you, I won't tell you |
| And in the flames of crows |
| Cowhides and crocs |
| Dance carefree |
| But if My Briefs is in kangaroo |
| Be wary or else |
| Take back your old gold clack |
| My old crow and I stop everything |
| Name | Year |
|---|---|
| Bestiaire | 1996 |
| Zigo | 1993 |
| Emily | 1996 |
| Bibliothèque II | 2000 |
| Je chante | 2020 |
| L'Iditenté | 2020 |
| Je voudrais | 2011 |
| Maquis | 2011 |
| Chapeau | 2000 |
| Le Cabaret des nues | 2000 |
| Météo | 2011 |
| Patalo | 2000 |
| J'men fous | 2011 |
| C'est dimanche | 2000 |
| Les Poupées | 2000 |
| Marteau-Piqueur | 2011 |
| Angata | 2011 |
| Les Choses | 2000 |
| Olé | 2011 |
| Le Gratte poil | 2000 |