Paroles et traduction Georges Brassens - Le Mauvais Sujet Repenti (mono)

Le Mauvais Sujet Repenti (mono)

Elle avait la taill′ faite au tour,
Les hanches pleines, Et chassait l' mâle aux alentours
De la Mad′leine...
A sa façon d' me dir': "Mon rat,
Est-c′ que j′ te tente?"
Je vis que j'avais affaire à
Un′ débutante...

L'avait l′ don, c'est vrai, j′en conviens,
L'avait l' génie,
Mais sans technique, un don n′est rien
Qu′un' sal′ manie...
Certes, on ne se fait pas putain
Comme on s' fait nonne.
C′est du moins c' qu′on prêche, en latin,
A la Sorbonne...

Me sentant rempli de pitié
Pour la donzelle,
J' lui enseignai, de son métier,
Les p'tit′s ficelles...
J′ lui enseignai l' moyen d′ bientôt
Faire fortune,
En bougeant l'endroit où le dos
R′ssemble à la lune...

Car, dans l'art de fair′ le trottoir,
Je le confesse,
Le difficile est d' bien savoir
Jouer des fesses...
On n' tortill′ pas son popotin
D′ la mêm' manière,
Pour un droguiste, un sacristain,
Un fonctionnaire...

Rapidement instruite par
Mes bons offices,
Elle m′investit d'une part
D′ ses bénéfices...
On s'aida mutuellement,
Comm′ dit l' poète.
Ell' était l′ corps, naturell′ment,
Puis moi la tête...

Un soir, à la suite de
Manœuvres douteuses,
Ell' tomba victim′ d'une
Maladie honteuses...
Lors, en tout bien, toute amitié,
En fille probe,
Elle me passa la moitié
De ses microbes...

Après des injections aiguës
D′antiseptique,
J'abandonnai l′ métier d' cocu
Systématique...
Elle eut beau pousser des sanglots,
Braire à tu'-tête,
Comme je n′étais qu′un salaud,
J' me fis honnête...

Sitôt privé′ de ma tutell',
Ma pauvre amie
Courrut essuyer du bordel
Les infamies...
Paraît qu′ell' s′ vend même à des flics,
Quell' décadence!
Y a plus d' moralité publiqu′
Dans notre France...

The Reformed Bad Girl (mono)

Her form was shapely, her hips were wide,
She went chasing after every man outside
The Madeleine...
From the way she'd say, "My dear,",
I saw she wanted me.
I realized I was dealing with
A novice...

She had the gift, I'll admit,
She had the passion,
But without technique, a gift is nothing
But a filthy habit...
True, one doesn't become a whore
Like one becomes a nun.
At least that's what they preach, in Latin,
At the Sorbonne...

Feeling rather sorry
For the girl,
I taught her a few tricks of her trade,
The little skills...
I showed her how to soon make
A fortune,
By moving the spot where her back
Resembles the moon...

For in the art of walking the streets,
I confess,
The hardest part is knowing how to
Play your ass...
You don't wiggle your behind
In the same way,
For a chemist, a sacristan,
A civil servant...

She quickly learned from
My helpful lessons,
She invested me with a share
Of her profits...
We helped each other out,
As the poet says.
She had the body, naturally,
And I the head...

One night, after some
Questionable maneuvers,
She fell victim to a
Shameful disease...
Then, as a true friend,
An honest girl,
She gave me half
Of her microbes...

After some sharp injections
Of antiseptic,
I gave up the profession of a
Systematic cuckold...
She may have burst into tears,
Yelled at the top of her lungs,
But since I was nothing more than a bastard,
I played it straight...

As soon as I was free from my tutelage,
My poor friend
Went off to wipe away the slights
Of the brothel...
Apparently she's even selling herself to cops,
Such decadence!
There's no more public morality
In our France...