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| Home → Recorded Songs → 1952 → Hécatombe |
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| Hécatombe | Hecatomb | ||
| Au marché de Briv’-la-Gaillarde, À propos de bottes d’oignons, Quelques douzaines de gaillardes Se crêpaient un jour le chignon. À pied, à cheval, en voiture, Les gendarmes, mal inspirés, Vinrent pour tenter l’aventure D’interrompre l’échauffouré’. Or, sous tous les cieux sans vergogne, C’est un usag’ bien établi, Dès qu’il s’agit d’rosser les cognes Tout l’ monde se réconcili’. Ces furi’s, perdant tout’ mesure, Se ruèrent sur les guignols, Et donnèrent je vous l’assure, Un spectacle assez croquignol. En voyant ces braves pandores Etre à deux doigts de succomber, Moi, j’bichais car je les adore Sous la forme de macchabé’s. De la mansarde où je réside, J’exitais les farouches bras Des mégères gendarmicides, En criant: «Hip, hip, hip, hourra!» Frénétiqu’, l’un’ d’elles attache Le vieux maréchal des logis, Et lui fait crier: «Mort aux vaches! Mort aux lois! Vive l’anarchie!» Une autre fourre avec rudesse Le crâne d’un de ses lourdauds Entre ses gigantesques fesses Qu’elle serre comme un étau. La plus grasse de ses femelles, Ouvrant son corsag’ dilaté, Matraque à grands coups de mamelles Ceux qui passent à sa porté’. Ils tombent, tombent, tombent, tombent, Et, s’lon les avis compétents, Il paraît que cett’ hécatombe Fut la plus bell’ de tous les temps. Jugeant enfin que leurs victimes Avaient eu leur content de gnons, Ces furi’s, comme outrage ultime, En retournant à leurs oignons, Ces furi’s à peine si j’ose Le dire, tellement c’est bas, Leur auraient mêm’ coupé les choses: Par bonheur ils n’en avait pas! Leur auraient mêm’ coupé les choses: Par bonheur ils n’en avait pas! |
At the Briva-la-Gaillarde market, For a bag of onions, A few dozen bawdy women One day were giving each other a good thrashing. On foot, by horse and by car, Some ill advised cops Arrived, to try To break-up the fight. Well, it is a time-honored tradition, In all respectable places, When it’s time to gang up against the cops The whole world will reconcile. Those raging women, losing all decency, They lunged at the cops And the show they put up Was quite amazing, I assure you. Seeing those brave constables So close to being overwhelmed I was jubilant, because I love them When they are belly up. From the attic where I live, I cheered the wild arms Of those cop destroyers And I cried: «Hip, hip, hip, hurray!» One of them, in a frenzy, Attacks the elderly sergeant And makes him shout: «Death to the cops, Death to the Law, Long live Anarchy!» Another one shoves with great force The skull of one of those blockheads Between her gigantic buttocks And squeezes him as in a vise. The fattest of those women, Opens her stretched out corset, And unleashes great blows with her tits Onto those within her reach. And they fall, they fall, they fall, they fall, And according to some competent pundits It seems that this hecatomb Was the best of all times. And when they saw that their victims Had had enough trouble, Those raging women, as a last insult, Returning to their onions, Those raging women, I barely Dare to say it, it’s so vile, They would have chopped their things off, But luckily they had none! They would have chopped their things off, But luckily they had none! |