Paroles et traduction Richard Desjardins - Miami - Live

Miami - Live

Qui a tué le garagiste? Qui donc en avait l′intérêt? Un type fauché parlant spanglish? Nous détenons quelques suspects.
Miami
Le millionnaire et son aorte, la muchacha qui lui proposeune sensation un peu trop forte; le coup de grâce et l'overdose.
Miami
La vie finit comme elle commence, spoonful of love et de romance.
Le jour se lève sur Miamiet les palmiers qui s′en balancent.
Carcasses de crabes, vides et sans yeux, ils arrivaient au point de fuite, pauvres touristes offrant aux cieuxleurs vie perdues, leurs tas de suif.
Ils appelaient tranquillitéce qui n'était qu'une noyade, une cargaison dissimuléedans l′épicentre de la tornade.
Soudain, soudain, l′alerte au large:" Peuple à la mer! Peuple à la mer! "Encore ces misérables bargesqui viennent vomir à nos frontières.
Les vedettes d'la US Navys′en vont rester le droit de l'homme; la dernière fois, elles l′ont trouvédans le fond 'une bouteille de rhum.
Le négrito, le flic aux trousses, se jette à l′eau avant la pince; les dents du requin sont plus doucesque les soirées de Port-au-Prince.
Allô! Allô! l'équipe du câble? Y a un client qui tombe de haut.
Mini-série, sujet rentable;" The refugees " on video.
Oh playa playa formidable! dessous les pieds enfin le sable.
On débarque dans l'après-viequand on débarque à Miami.
L′argent sonnant l′assaut final, speakers sanglant le rock'n′roll, le fugitif qui se sent maldans la clameur du Superbowl.
Comment te sens-tu, U.
O., dans le cimetière des débrouillards? Comment trouver les mots qu'il fautpour émouvoir un seul dollar? Ne pas bouger, surtout se taire, tapi dans l′ombre des feux verts, frappe à la porte du presbytère, le pasteur braque son révolver:" Tu n'aurais pas quelque dépôt? Montre-moi tout ce que tu caches
Tu n′as plus rien? je prends ta peau.
In God we trust, others pay cash! J'ai mes contacts en très haut lieu, ta peau vaut bien l'cuir du Marocon en fera faute de mieuxde la moulée pour Donald Duck? Allez! Va-t′en, reste pas là! Pour qui le veut, y a du travail.
Va voir aux labos d′la Nasa, y a de l'avenir pour les cobayes. "Le décompte final commença; les strappes, le casque: adien créole! Zéro! L′éclair le traversad'une décharge de deux mille volts.
Qui a tué le garagiste? Qui dons en avait l′intérêt? Un type fauché, parlant spanglish? C'est lui. La preuve? Il s′enfuyait.

Miami - Live

Who killed the mechanic? Who had the motive, pray tell? Some broke guy speaking Spanglish? We have a few suspects, my dear.
Miami
The millionaire with his failing heart, the muchacha offering a thrill a bit too strong; the coup de grâce and the overdose, darling.
Miami
Life ends as it begins, a spoonful of love and romance, you see.
The day breaks over Miami, and the swaying palm trees couldn't care less.
Empty crab shells, eyeless and bare, reaching the vanishing point, poor tourists offering to the heavens their wasted lives, their mounds of fat.
They called tranquility what was merely drowning, a cargo concealed at the heart of the tornado, my love.
Suddenly, suddenly, the offshore alert: "Man overboard! Man overboard!" Again those wretched barges spewing their contents at our borders, it seems.
The US Navy's stars are going to uphold human rights; last time, they found it at the bottom of a rum bottle, as I recall.
The negrito, the cop on their heels, jumps into the water before the clamp; the shark's teeth are gentler than the nights in Port-au-Prince, you know.
Hello! Hello! Cable crew? We have a customer falling from the sky.
Mini-series, profitable subject; "The Refugees" on video, darling.
Oh, playa playa, so wonderful! Finally, sand beneath our feet.
We disembark into the afterlife when we disembark in Miami, it seems.
Clinking coins, the final assault, speakers blaring rock 'n' roll, the fugitive feeling unwell amidst the Superbowl's clamor.
How are you feeling, U.
S. of A., in the graveyard of hustlers? How to find the right words to move a single dollar? Don't move, above all, stay silent, hiding in the shadows of green lights, knock on the presbytery door, the pastor aims his revolver: "Do you have any deposits? Show me everything you're hiding
You have nothing left? I'll take your skin."
In God we trust, others pay cash! I have my contacts in high places, your skin is worth as much as Moroccan leather; he'll make, for lack of anything better, feed for Donald Duck? Go on! Get out of here, don't just stand there! There's work for those who want it.
Go see the labs at NASA, there's a future for guinea pigs." The final countdown began; the straps, the helmet: farewell, Creole! Zero! The lightning struck him with a two thousand volt discharge.
Who killed the mechanic? Who had the motive, pray tell? Some broke guy speaking Spanglish? It was him. The proof? He was running away.