Текст и перевод песни Nicolas Peyrac - Ne Jouez Plus God Save The Queen

Ne Jouez Plus God Save The Queen

NE JOUEZ PLUS "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN"
Ne jou-ez plus "God save the Queen"
Il pleut sur Londres
Les Stones en-registr′nt à Pa-ris
Il pleut sur Londres
Bry-an Jones est mort
Mac Cartney s'endort
Chez Linda
Ne jou-ez plus "Gode save the Queen"
Il pleut sur Londres
C′est tous les jours Hel-za-pop-pin
Il pleut sur Londres
On meurt à Dublin
En-tre loups et chiens
L'I.R.A.
Nous nous ai-mions ce temps-là
Sou-ve-nez-vous
On se fou-tait pas mal du brouillard
Il fai-sait bon dans nos mé-moires
C'é-tait bien
Et on se di-sait pres-que vous
On n′o-sait pas
On n′o-sait pas al-ler jusqu'au bout
De cet-te tendresse in-fi-nie
C′était bien.
Ne
On a-che-tait des pull-o-ver
A Car-na-by
Et ça fri-mait pas mal au ly-cée
Quand on di-sait:
"Ça c'est an-glais,
C′est marqué"
Et on at-ten-dait les va-cances
Pour se re-voir
J'é-tais le pe-tit a-mi de France
Celui qui croy-ait à l′a-mour
A-vec vous.
Ne
Je n'sait plus s'il fait aus-si beau
Sur La-vey-ro.
Les sca-ra-bées ont chan-gé de peau
Pour é-mi-grer à Hol-ly-wood
Y′a long-temps
Vous a-vez sans doute é-pou-sé
Un lord an-glais
Qui vous dit:
"Mi-la-dy, je vous aime.
Comm′vous parlez bien le fran-çais.
Mieux que moi".
Ne

Don't Play "God Save the Queen" Anymore

DON'T PLAY "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN" ANYMORE
Don't play "God save the Queen" anymore
It's raining in London
The Stones are recording in Paris
It's raining in London
Bry-an Jones is dead
Mac Cartney is falling asleep
At Linda's
Don't play "God save the Queen" anymore
It's raining in London
It's Helza-pop-pin every day
It's raining in London
They're dying in Dublin
Between wolves and dogs
The I.R.A.
We loved each other in those days
Remember
We didn't care about the fog
It was warm in our memories
It was good
And we said almost you
We didn't dare
We didn't dare go all the way
Of this infinite tenderness
It was good.
No
We bought pullovers
In Car-na-by
And it was pretty cool in high school
When we said:
"This is English,
It's marked"
And we waited for the holidays
To see each other again
I was France's little boyfriend
The one who believed in love
With you.
No
I don't know if it's still as beautiful
On La-vey-ro.
The scarabs have changed their skin
To emigrate to Hollywood
A long time ago
You probably married
An English lord
Who says to you:
"Milady, I love you.
You speak French so well.
Better than I do."
No