Текст и перевод песни Yves Montand - Battling jœ - Remastered

Battling jœ - Remastered

Dans un village noir de charbon, dans les cheminées et les corons
Tout petit il battait ses copains, il était fier de ses deux poings
Presque autant que son père le mineur qui disait "Ça fera un boxeur"
Le jour de son premier combat fallait un nom, l'en avait pas
Comme la mode était à l'anglais, il s'appela "Battling Joe"

Battling Joe, c'était un peu démesuré
Pour un gosse aux épaules étroites
Mais qui avait une méchante droite
Battling Joe, il gagna son premier combat
Et le soir même avec papa, il prenait le train pour Paris
Où un boxeur ça vaut son prix, Battling Joe

Battling devint un grand champion jusqu'au triste soir où un gnon
Lui embrouilla soudain les yeux, le manager dit "C'est pas sérieux!
Tu de viens feignant, fait ton métier, boxe ça rime pas avec pitié
La foule eut peut être tort ce soir-là de siffler la fin du combat
Malgré les lampes et leurs éclairs
Battling Joe hé Joe ne voyait plus clair

Battling Joe, c'est un nom maintenant oublié
Une triste silhouette qui penche, appuyée sur une canne blanche
Battling Joe a tout perdu en un seul soir
Ses yeux son titre et son espoir, mais il sait comme consolation
Que son manager a d'autres champions, Battling Joe

Battling Joe - Remastered

In a village black with coal, amidst the chimneys and the miners' houses,
As a small boy, he'd beat his friends, proud of his two fists,
Almost as proud as his miner father, who'd say, "He'll make a boxer."
The day of his first fight, he needed a name, he didn't have one.
As English names were all the rage, he called himself "Battling Joe."

Battling Joe, it was a bit much,
For a kid with narrow shoulders,
But who had a wicked right hook.
Battling Joe, he won his first fight,
And that very night, with his dad, he took the train to Paris,
Where a boxer is worth his weight in gold, Battling Joe.

Battling became a great champion, until the sad night when a punch,
Suddenly blurred his vision, the manager said, "This isn't serious!"
"You're getting lazy, do your job, boxing doesn't rhyme with pity."
The crowd was perhaps wrong that night to boo the end of the fight.
Despite the lamps and their flashes,
Battling Joe, hey Joe, couldn't see clearly anymore.

Battling Joe, it's a name now forgotten,
A sad silhouette leaning, supported by a white cane.
Battling Joe lost everything in a single night,
His eyes, his title and his hope, but he knows as consolation,
That his manager has other champions, Battling Joe.