Paroles et traduction Colette Magny - Le p'tit Quinquin

Le p'tit Quinquin

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Ainsi, l'aut' jour eun' pauv' dintellière,
In amiclotant sin p'tit garchon
Qui d'puis tros quarts d'heure, n'faijot qu'braire,
Tâchot d'linformir par eun' canchon.
Ell' li dijot: Min Narcisse,
D'main, t'aras du pain n'épice
Du chuc à gogo
Si t'es sache et qu'te fais dodo!

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,

Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Et si te m'laiche faire eun'bonn'semaine
J'irai dégager tin biau sarrau,
Tin pantalon d'drap, tin giliet d'laine...
Comme un p'tit milord te s'ras farau!
J't'acat'rai, l'jour de l'ducasse
Un porichinell' cocasse,
Un turlututu,
Pour jouer l'air du capiau-pointu...

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Nous irons dins l'cour Jeannette-à-Vaques
Vir les marionnett's. Comme te riras,
Quand t'intindras dire: "Un doup pou' Jacques!"
Pa' l'porichinell' qui parl' magas.
Te li mettras din s'menotte,
Au lieu d' doupe, un rond d'carotte!
It' dira merci!...
Pins' comme nous arons du plaisi!...

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Et si par hasard sin maite s'fâche,
Ch'est alors Narcisse, que nous rirons!
Sans n'n'avoir invi', j'prindrai m'n air mache
J'li dirai sin nom et ses surnoms,

J'li dirai des fariboles
I m'in répondra des drôles
Infin un chacun
Verra deux pestac' au lieu d'un

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Allons serr' tes yeux, dors min bonhomme
J'vas dire eun' prière à P'tit Jésus
Pou' qu'i vienne ichi, pindant tin somme,
T'fair'rêver qu'j'ai les mains plein's d'écus,
Pour qu'i t'apporte eun'coquille,
Avec du chirop qui guile
Tout l'long d'tin minton,
Te poulèqu'ras tros heur's de long!...

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

L'mos qui vient, d'Saint'Nicolas ch'est l'fête
Pour sûr, au soir, i viendra t'trouver
It' f'ra un sermon, et t'laich'ra mette
In d'zous du ballot, un grand painnier.
I l'rimplira, si tes sache,
D'séquois qui t'rindront bénache,
San cha, sin baudet
T'invoira un grand martinet

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin

Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

Ni les marionnettes, ni l'pain n'épice
N'ont produit d'effet. Mais l'martinet
A vit' rappajé l' petit Narcisse,
Qui craignot d'vir arriver l'baudet
Il a dit s'canchon dormoire...
S'mèr' l'a mis dins s'n ochennoire:
A r'pris sin coussin,
Et répété vingt fos che r'frain.

Dors, Min p'tit quinquin,
Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin
Te m'fras du chagrin
Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main

The Little Rascal

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

So, the other day, a poor woman of intellect,
While tucking in her little boy
Who for more than three quarters of an hour, did nothing but cry,
Tried to inform him by a song.
She told him: My Narcissus,
Tomorrow, you'll have gingerbread,
Sugar galore
If you're good and you go to sleep!

Sleep, my little rascal,

My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

And if you let me have a good week,
I'll go and redeem your beautiful jacket,
Your cloth pants, your woolen vest...
You'll be dressed like a little lord!
I'll buy you, on the day of the fair,
A funny Punchinello,
A whirligig,
To play the tune of the pointed hat...

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

We'll go to Jeannette-à-Vaques' yard
To see the puppets. How you'll laugh,
When you hear them say: "A penny for Jacques!"
By the Punchinello who talks nonsense.
You'll put in his little hand,
Instead of a penny, a round carrot!
He'll say thank you!...
Think how much fun we'll have!...

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

And if by chance his master gets angry,
Then Narcissus, we'll laugh!
Without wanting to, I'll put on my silly face
I'll tell him his name and his nicknames,

I'll tell him some fibs
He'll answer me with funny ones
In the end everyone
Will see two fools instead of one

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

Come on, close your eyes, sleep my good man
I'm going to say a prayer to Little Jesus
For him to come here, during your sleep,
To make you dream that my hands are full of crowns,
For him to bring you a shell,
With syrup that oozes
All along your chin,
You'll be licking for hours on end!...

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

Next month, it's Saint Nicholas' Day
For sure, in the evening, he will come and see you
He'll preach to you, and let you put
Under the bed, a big basket.
He'll fill it, if you're good,
With sweets that will make you happy,
Without tea, without donkey
He'll invoke a big whip

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief

If you don't sleep until tomorrow.

Neither the puppets, nor the gingerbread
Had any effect. But the whip
Quickly appeased little Narcissus,
Who was afraid to see the donkey arrive
He sang his bedtime song...
His mother put him in his cradle:
He took his pillow,
And repeated this chorus twenty times.

Sleep, my little rascal,
My little chick, my big chubby,
You'll give me grief
If you don't sleep until tomorrow.