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Le Père Noël et la petite fille, incl.Leggenda di Natale; La canzone di Marinella; Bocca di Rosa

Georges Brassens
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OriginalBocca di Rosa - La versione inglese di Riccardo Venturi
LE PÈRE NOËL ET LA PETITE FILLE, INCL.LEGGENDA DI NATALE; LA CANZONE DI MARINELLA; BOCCA DI ROSA

Avec sa hotte sur le dos
Avec sa hotte sur le dos
Il s'en venait d'Eldorado
Il s'en venait d'Eldorado
Il avait une barbe blanche
Il avait nom "Papa Gâteau"

Il a mis du pain sur ta planche
Il a mis les mains sur tes hanches

Il t'a prom'née dans un landeau
Il t'a prom'née dans un landeau
En route pour la vie d'château
En route pour la vie d'château
La belle vie dorée sur tranche
Il te l'offrit sur un plateau

Il a mis du grain dans ta grange
Il a mis les mains sur tes hanches

Toi qui n'avais rien sur le dos
Toi qui n'avais rien sur le dos
Il t'a couverte de manteaux
Il t'a couverte de manteaux
Il t'a vêtue comme un dimanche
Tu n'auras pas froid de sitôt

Il a mis l'hermine à ta hanche
Il a mis les mains sur tes hanches

Tous les camées, tous les émaux
Tous les camées, tous les émaux
Il les fit pendre à tes rameaux
Il les fit pendre à tes rameaux
Il fit rouler en avalanches
Perles et rubis dans tes sabots

Il a mis de l'or à ta branche
Il a mis les mains sur tes hanches

Tire la bell', tir' le rideau
Tire la bell', tir' le rideau
Sur tes misères de tantôt
Sur tes misères de tantôt
Et qu'au-dehors il pleuve, il vente
Le mauvais temps n'est plus ton lot

Le joli temps des coudées franches
On a mis les mains sur tes hanches
ROSEMOUTH

     They call'd her Rosemouth,
     She did put love, she did put love
     They call'd her Rosemouth,
     She did put love above all things.

     No sooner had she arrived
     To the station of Sant'Ilario
     When ev'rybody realized at first sight
     She was no missionary at all.

     Someone makes love out of boredom,
     Someone chooses it for one's job;
     Neither of the two things for Rosemouth:
     She made love out of passion.

     But, as you know, passion often leads
     To gratifying one's own lust
     Without enquiring if he, who's lusted after
     Is still free or a married man.

     So, hearken! With her deed and actions
     Did Rosemouth arouse day by day
     Grapes of wrath of the little puppies
     She kept on stealing their bones from.

     But the wives of a small village
     Aren't so cute, as you may suppose:
     Up to that time their only reaction
     Was hurling insults at Rosemouth.

     You know that people give good advice
     Feeling as Jesus Christ in the Temple,
     You know that people give good advice
     If they can't set a bad example.

     So, and old woman still unmarried,
     Without children, without any lust,
     Took the trouble, and, I'm sure, the pleasure
     To give all 'em a right piece of advice:

     So, she addressed with witty words
     All that bunch of deceived wives:
     "This love stealth shall be punished",
     She said, "By the Police Force".

     And they all went to the Police Station
     And shouted without weighing their words:
     "That bitch already got more clients
     Than a farmer's cooperative."

     So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came
     With plumed hats, with plumed hats,
     So four gendarmes, four gendarmes came
     Well armed, with their plumed hats.

     You know policemen aren't renowned
     For having tender heart, for sure;
     But that time they took her to the train
     Not so willingly, I assure.

     All male villagers were there, including
     The Police Chief and the sexton,
     All male villagers were there
     With weeping eyes, bearing placards.

     To say goodbye and bon voyage
     To Rosemouth, who for short time
     Without pretension, without pretension
     Had brought love into that village.

     Someone had written in black
     On a yellow placard:
     "Goodbye, goodbye, Rosemouth!
     Spring is leaving us with you."

     But a piece of news like that
     Needs no newspaper, as you may suppose:
     Just like an arrow flung by a good bowman
     It spread so rapidly in the wind

     So, at the next station there were
     Much more people than when she had left:
     One blows her a kiss, one throws flowers,
     One books her for a couple of hours.

     Even the Priest, not disregarding
     Among burials and extreme unctions
     The short-lived pleasure of beauty,
     Wants her to follow the procession.

     With Our Lady in the front row
     And Rosemouth just behind
     The priest is walking through the village
     With both profane and sacred love!


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