Текст и перевод песни Mouloudji - Tout fout l'camp

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus d'jeunesse, y a plus d'saison
Y a plus d'printemps, y a plus d'automne, y a plus
d'façons
Tout fout l'camp
Y a plus d'enfant
Y a plus d'famille, y a plus d'morale
Y a plus d'civisme
Plus d'religion

Tout fout l'camp
Y a plus d'pognon
Y a plus d'pitié
Y a plus d'moisson
Plus d'charité
Y a plus d'joie d'vivre
Y a plus d'gaieté
Y a plus d'travail
Y a plus d'santé

Y a plus d'chanson
Y a plus d'chanteur
Y a plus d'bonheur
Y a plus d'boxon
Y a plus d'boxeur

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus d'français
Y a plus d'rosière
Y a plus d'fontaine
Y a plus d'chalet d'nécessité

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus de vrais hommes
Y a plus de drapeau
Y a plus d'Afrique
Y a plus d'colonies
Y a plus d'bonniche
Plus d'savoir-faire
Plus d'tradition
Plus qu'des affaires

A quoi bon
A quoi bon hurler
A quoi
Quoi bon gueuler

A quoi bon
A quoi bon s'griser
A quoi bon
Quoi bon s'bomber

A quoi bon
A quoi bon s'muter
A quoi bon
Quoi bon s'faire muter

A quoi bon
A quoi bon l'répéter
Le monde n'est plus ce qu'il était

Y a plus d'soleil
Y a plus d'chevaux
Y a plus d'romance
Y a plus de bon air
Y a plus d'essence

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus Paris
Y a plus de halles
Plus d'bords de Seine
Plus qu'des autos
Plus qu'des problèmes

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus d'maison
Plus qu'la télé
Y a plus d'trottin
Plus qu'du tapin

Y a plus d'blés d'or
Y a plus d'louis d'or
Y a plus d'conscience
Y a plus qu'des banques

Y a plus d'bon pain
Y a plus d'bonne viande
Y a plus d'fromage
Y a plus d'poulet
Y a plus d'vrai lait

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus d'amour
Y a plus d'serment
Plus d'clairs de lune
Plus d'galanterie
Plus que la pilule

Tout fout l'camp

Y a plus d'ferveur
Y a plus qu'du sexe
Y a plus d'fleur bleue
Plus qu'du pince-fesses
Y a plus d'héros
Plus d'héroïne
Y a plus qu'du hasch
Et d'la morphine

A quoi bon
A quoi bon hurler
A quoi
Quoi bon gueuler

A quoi bon
A quoi bon s'griser
A quoi bon
Quoi bon s'bomber

A quoi bon
Adorer la vie
A quoi bon
Quoi bon quoi qu'on s'dit

A quoi bon
Puisque c'est fini
Ou c'est moi p'têt' moi qui vieillis

Everything's Gone to Hell

There's no more youth, there's no more season
There's no more spring, no more autumn, there's no more
Ways
Everything's gone to hell
There are no more children
There's no more family, no more morals
There's no more civility
No more religion

Everything's gone to hell
There's no more money
There's no more pity
There's no more harvest
No more charity
There's no more joy of living
There's no more gaiety
There's no more work
There's no more health

There are no more songs
There are no more singers
There's no more happiness
There's no more fighting
There are no more fighters

Everything's gone to hell

There are no more French people
There are no more virgins
There are no more fountains
There are no more necessary shacks

Everything's gone to hell

There are no more real men
There are no more flags
There's no more Africa
There are no more colonies
There are no more maids
No more know-how
No more tradition
Nothing but business

What's the point
What's the point of yelling
What's the
Point of shouting

What's the point
What's the point of getting drunk
What's the point
Point of getting high

What's the point
What's the point of changing
What's the point
Point of getting transferred

What's the point
What's the point of repeating it
The world is no longer what it was

There's no more sun
There are no more horses
There's no more romance
There's no more fresh air
There's no more gasoline

Everything's gone to hell

There's no more Paris
There are no more markets
No more banks of the Seine
Nothing but cars
Nothing but problems

Everything's gone to hell

There's no more home
Nothing but TV
There's no more scooter
Nothing but hooking

There are no more gold wheat fields
There are no more gold coins
There's no more conscience
There are only banks

There's no more good bread
There's no more good meat
There's no more cheese
There's no more chicken
There's no more real milk

Everything's gone to hell

There's no more love
There are no more vows
No more moonbeams
No more gallantry
Nothing but the pill

Everything's gone to hell

There's no more fervor
There's nothing but sex
There are no more shrinking violets
Nothing but butt pinching
There are no more heroes
No more heroines
There's nothing but hash
And morphine

What's the point
What's the point of yelling
What's the
Point of shouting

What's the point
What's the point of getting drunk
What's the point
Point of getting high

What's the point
Of worshipping life
What's the point
Point of anything we say

What's the point
Since it's over
Or maybe it's me, maybe it's me getting old