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Le bistrot The bistrot
Dans un coin pourri
Du pauvre Paris,
Sur un' place,
L'est un vieux bistrot
Tenu par un gros
In a grotty spot
In a rotten square
Of poorest Paris
There's an old bistrot
Kept by a disgusting
Fat slob.
Si t'as le bec fin,
S'il te faut du vin
D' premièr' classe,
Va boire à Passy,
Le nectar d'ici
Te dépasse.
If you've a fine palate
And you drink wine
Of the very best,
Go and fill your glass at Passy
The nectar from this place
Will be more than you can handle.
Mais si t'as 1' gosier
Qu'une armur' d'acier
Goûte à ce velours,
Ce petit bleu lourd
De menaces.
But if your throat
Has a lining
Like a steel mattress
Just take a swig of this velvet,
This little tot
And all it threatens.
Tu trouveras là
La fin' fleur de la
Tous les marmiteux,
Les calamiteux
De la place.
Here you'll find
The fairest flower
of the folk.
All the disasters,
All the hard cases
Of the district.
Qui viennent en rang,
Comme des harengs,
Voir en face
La bell' du bistrot,
La femme à ce gros
They all come and line up
Like a row of herrings,
To take a squint at
The belle of the bistrot,
The wife of the disgusting
Fat slob.
Que je boive à fond
L'eau de tout's les fontain's
Si, dès aujourd'hui,
Tu n'es pas séduit
Par la grâce
I swear I'll drink
Every drop
In the Wallace fountains,
If right here and now
You are not knocked out
By the grace
De cett' joli' fé'
Qui, d'un bouge, a fait
Un palace.
Avec ses appas,
Du haut jusqu'en bas,
Bien en place.
Of this pretty nymph
Who has made a pit
Into a palace.
She has all her charms,
From top to bottom,
Right where it counts.
Ces trésors exquis,
Qui les embrass', qui
Les enlace?
Vraiment, c'en est trop!
Tout ça pour ce gros
And these treasures sweet,
Who embraces them?
Who squeezes their charms?
I just can't bear the thought,
It's all for that disgusting
Fat slob.
C'est injuste et fou,
Mais que voulez-vous
Qu'on y fasse?
L'amour se fait vieux,
Il a plus les yeux
Bien en face.
It's not fair, it's mad,
But what can you do?
Just grin and bear it.
Love must be getting old,
He's just not seeing straight
Any more.
Si tu fais ta cour,
Tâch' que tes discours
Ne l'agacent.
Sois poli, mon gars,
Pas de geste ou gare
à la casse!
If you make a pass
Just take care your chat
Doesn't vex her.
Just you watch your step,
Don't step out of line
Or you're for the high jump.
Car sa main qui claqu',
Punit d'un flic-flac
Les audaces.
Certes, il n'est pas né
Qui mettra le nez
Dans sa tasse.
Because her hand
With a hefty slap
Will give you what for.
There's not a man born
Who'll have a chance to sniff
In her cup.
Pas né, le chanceux
Qui dégel'ra ce
Bloc de glace,
Qui fera dans 1' dos
Les corne' à ce gros
The chancer isn't born
Who'll manage to unfreeze
This block of ice.
And who'll put horns
On the head
Of the flat slob.
Dans un coin pourri
Du pauvre Paris,
Sur un' place,
Une espèc' de fé',
D'un vieux bouge, a fait
Un palace.
In a grotty spot
In a rotten square
Of poorest Paris,
A fairy of a kind
Has made this dump
Into a palace.
© 1960 Ed. Mus. 57
Texte et musique G. Brassens
© 2000 Dr. Ted Neather
This translation aims to convey meaning and not attempt poetry or song.



Its the worst restaurant in town; undrinkeable wine, ghastly food, in a run-down area and with a slob of a landlord but the place is always full.


Because the landlady is very beautiful.

Le bistrot from Projet Brassens' CD La marine