Georges Brassens

Georges Brassens - Hécatombe English translation lyrics

Your rating:

Slaughter (Carnage)

At the Brive-La-Gaillarde market,
Concerning some onion bunchs,
some dozens of strapping wenchs
were tearing each other's hair one day,
on foot, on horseback, by car,
The policemen ill inspired
came to try the adventure
of interrupting the brawl.
Therefore, all over the world shamelessly,
it's a well-established custom
As soon as it's time to thrash the cops,
Everyone become reconciled
These shrews losing their sense of proportion,
Pounced on these puppets,
And gave I can assure you,
A pretty cute show.
Seeing these brave cops,
being within an ace of death,
Me, I was delighted because I adore them,
In the likeness of corpses
In the attic room where I reside,
I was exciting the fierce arms
of the "copkillers" shrews
By screaming "Hip, Hip, Hip, Hourra"
Frantic, one of them tie up
the old sergeant
and have him scream "down with the cops,
death to the laws, hurrah for the anarchy!"
Another one stuff roughly
the skull of one of these oafs
between her gigantic buttocks
that she tightens as a vice.
The fattier of these females,
opening her dilated blouse,
beat up using breasts,
those who were to the fore
They fall, fall, fall, fall
And according to the competent opinions,
apparently this slaughter
Has been the all-time most beautiful one.
finally judging that their casualties
had had their fill of bashes
these shrews as an ultimate insult,
by returning to their business,
These shrews I can hardly dare,
to tell 'cause it's so petty
would have also cut their bollocks,
fortunately theiy didn't have any
would have also cut their bollocks,
fortunately theiy didn't have any

Hécatombe

HÉCATOMBE

Au marché de Brive-la-Gaillarde

A propos de bottes d'oignons,

Quelques douzaines de gaillardes

Se crêpaient un jour le chignon.

A pied, a cheval, en voiture,

Les gendarmes mal inspirés

Vinrent pour tenter l'aventure

D'interrompre l'échauffourée.

Or, sous tous les cieux sans vergogne,

C'est un usage bien établi,

Dès qu'il s'agit de rosser les cognes

Tout le monde se réconcilie.

Ces furies perdant toute mesure

Se ruèrent sur les guignols,

Et donnèrent je vous l'assure

Un spectacle assez croquignol.

En voyant ces braves pendores

Être à deux doigts de succomber,

Moi, je bichais car je les adore

Sous la forme de macchabées

De la mansarde où je réside

J'excitais les farouches bras

Des mégères gendarmicides

En criant: "Hip, hip, hip, hourra!"

Frénétique l'une d'elles attache

Le vieux maréchal des logis

Et lui fait crier: "Mort aux vaches,

Mort aux lois, vive l'anarchie!"

Une autre fourre avec rudesse

Le crâne d'un de ses lourdauds

Entre ses gigantesques fesses

Quelles serre comme un étau.

La plus grasse de ses femelles

Ouvrant son corsage dilaté

Matraque à grand coup de mamelles

Ceux qui passe à sa portée.

Ils tombent, tombent, tombent, tombent,

Et selon les avis compétents

Il paraît que cette hécatombe

Fut la plus belle de tous les temps.

Jugeant enfin que leurs victimes

Avaient eu leur content de gnons,

Ces furies comme outrage ultime

En retournant à leurs oignons,

Ces furies à peine si j'ose

Le dire tellement c'est bas,

Leur auraient même coupé les choses

Par bonheur ils n'en avaient pas.

Leur auraient même coupé les choses

Par bonheur ils n'en avaient pas.
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: Georges Brassens

Composer: Georges Brassens

Publisher: Universal Licensing Music (ULM)

Details:

Released in: 2014

Language: French

Translations: English

Appearing on: Les 100 Plus Belles Chansons (2006) , Les amoureux des bancs public (2006)

Share your thoughts

This form is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

0 Comments found