Georges Brassens
Georges Brassens - Le modeste English translation lyrics
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The modest
Countries, now that you have plenty of People are born in Salamanca, Paris, Bordeaux, Lille, Brest Him birth took him Around Saintes Maries1 He's a modest. Like in the olden days did a king He would stupid enough, I think To give the throne and the rest Against one camargue horse Lame, old, one-eyed, exhausted, He's a modest. Followed by his stone pine2 If he flees without touhing ground the slightest effort like the plague, It's because at the workshop his Hercules arms Would make the others ridicule, He's a modest. At the boules game3 when he looses, Do not worry, daddy If by chance he's contesting you4, If he pouts, if he mistreats you Deep down, he's happy for you, He's a modest. If, a pain in the arse puts him In a rage, you'll never see him Raise on the main a swift hand It's because he doesn't think it's necessary To humiliate an oppotent, He's a modest. And when he falls madly in love, There's no danger for him to declare Effusions, lady, he hates According to him wearing his heart on his sleeve5 His heart or his ass it's the same, He's a modest. When an imbecile is buried Of his friends if he mocks, if His eyes are dry and he shows No sorrow, don't you trust what you see He is down in the dumps6, He's a modest. And if he calls you a foreigner, May you be from Napoli, Angers Or elsewhere, don't put on your jacket Him when he adopts you, of course ! He doesn't want it to be said, He's a modest. If you don't act like a dunce If you can read between the lines Between the words, between the acts, Then, You'll see right through him, And that this playboy7, He's a modest.
Le modeste
LE MODESTE Les pays, c'est pas ça qui manque, On vient au monde à Salamanque A Paris, Bordeaux, Lille, Breste. Lui, la nativité le prit Du côté des Saintes-Maries, C'est un modeste. Comme jadis a fait un roi, Il serait bien fichu, je crois, De donner le trône et le reste Contre un seul cheval camarguais Bancal, vieux, borgne, fatigué, C'est un modeste. Suivi de son pin parasol, S'il fuit sans même toucher le sol Le moindre effort comme la peste, C'est qu'au chantier ses bras d'Hercule Rendraient les autres ridicules, C'est un modeste. A la pétanque, quand il perd Te fais pas de souci, pépère, Si d'aventure il te conteste. S'il te boude, s'il te rudoie, Au fond, il est content pour toi, C'est un modeste. Si, quand un emmerdeur le met En rogne, on ne le voit jamais Lever sur l'homme une main leste. C'est qu'il juge pas nécessaire D'humilier un adversaire, C'est un modeste. Et, quand il tombe amoureux fou Y a pas de danger qu'il l'avoue: Les effusions, dame, il déteste. Selon lui, mettre en plein soleil Son coeur ou son cul c'est pareil, C'est un modeste. Quand on enterre un imbécile De ses amis, s'il raille, s'il A l'oeil sec et ne manifeste Aucun chagrin, t'y fie pas trop: Sur la patate, il en a gros, C'est un modeste. Et s'il te traite d'étranger Que tu sois de Naples, d'Angers Ou d'ailleurs, remets pas la veste. Lui, quand il t'adopte, pardi! Il veut pas que ce soit le dit, C'est un modeste. Si tu n'as pas tout du grimaud, Si tu sais lire entre les mots, Entre les faits, entre les gestes. Lors, tu verras clair dans son jeu, Et que ce bel avantageux, C'est un modeste.
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Author: Georges Brassens
Composer: Georges Brassens
Publisher: Mercury France
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