Lyrics and translation Mungo Jerry - Tramp

Tramp

King

The sun was low and the shadow was cold
On the pale drawn face that was wrinkled and old.

A newspaper coat hanging loose 'round his throat
And the shoes on his feet, strips of leather tied up with rope.

His uncombed hair and eyes that would stare
At the people passing by who didn't know or didn't care.

This poor old man he's all alone
He's got no money or no home of his own
The back street's his kitchen, the footpath's his hall
And the chalk on the brick work are the pictures on his wall.

And he lays down his head on the pavement, that's his bed
And when he sleeps, his dreams fade away.

Mmm ...

He walks down the street with his hands in his coat
Looking down at his feet for a dog-end he could smoke.

He thinks about food, good drinking and good fun
As he searches through the dustbins, his life almost done.

This poor old man he's all alone
He's got no money or no home of his own
The back street's his kitchen, the footpath's his hall
And the chalk on the brick work are the pictures on his wall.

And he lays down his head on the pavement, that's his bed
And as he sleeps, his dreams fade away.

Clochard

Roi

Le soleil était bas et l'ombre était froide
Sur le visage pâle et ridé qui était vieux et flétri.

Un manteau de journal pendait lâchement autour de son cou
Et les chaussures à ses pieds, des lanières de cuir attachées avec de la corde.

Ses cheveux non coiffés et ses yeux qui fixaient
Les gens qui passaient et qui ne savaient pas ou ne s'en souciaient pas.

Ce pauvre vieil homme est tout seul
Il n'a pas d'argent ni de maison
La ruelle est sa cuisine, le trottoir est son hall
Et la craie sur la brique sont les images sur son mur.

Et il pose sa tête sur le trottoir, c'est son lit
Et quand il dort, ses rêves s'estompent.

Mmm ...

Il marche dans la rue les mains dans sa veste
En regardant ses pieds pour une cigarette qu'il pourrait fumer.

Il pense à la nourriture, à la boisson et à la bonne compagnie
Alors qu'il fouille dans les poubelles, sa vie presque terminée.

Ce pauvre vieil homme est tout seul
Il n'a pas d'argent ni de maison
La ruelle est sa cuisine, le trottoir est son hall
Et la craie sur la brique sont les images sur son mur.

Et il pose sa tête sur le trottoir, c'est son lit
Et quand il dort, ses rêves s'estompent.