Jacques Brel "Ces gens-là" lyrics

Translation to:deenhrtr

Ces gens-là

D’abord, d’abord, y a l’aînéLui qui est comme un melonLui qui a un gros nezLui qui sait plus son nomMonsieur tellement qu´y boitTellement qu´il a buQui fait rien de ses dix doigtsMais lui qui n´en peut plusLui qui est complètement cuitEt qui s´prend pour le roiQui se saoule toutes les nuitsAvec du mauvais vinMais qu´on retrouve matinDans l´église qui roupilleRaide comme une saillieBlanc comme un cierge de PâquesEt puis qui balbutieEt qui a l´œil qui divagueFaut vous dire, MonsieurQue chez ces gens-làOn ne pense pas, MonsieurOn ne pense pas, on prie

Et puis, y a l´autreDes carottes dans les cheveuxQu´a jamais vu un peigneQu´est méchant comme une teigneMême qu´il donnerait sa chemiseA des pauvres gens heureuxQui a marié la DeniseUne fille de la villeEnfin d´une autre villeEt que c´est pas finiQui fait ses p´tites affairesAvec son p´tit chapeauAvec son p´tit manteauAvec sa p´tite autoQu´aimerait bien avoir l´airMais qui a pas l´air du toutFaut pas jouer les richesQuand on n´a pas le souFaut vous dire, MonsieurQue chez ces gens-làOn n´vit pas, MonsieurOn n´vit pas, on triche

Et puis, il y a les autresLa mère qui ne dit rienOu bien n´importe quoiEt du soir au matinSous sa belle gueule d´apôtreEt dans son cadre en boisY a la moustache du pèreQui est mort d´une glissadeEt qui r´garde son troupeauBouffer la soupe froideEt ça fait des grands flchssEt ça fait des grands flchssEt puis y a la toute vieilleQu´en finit pas d´vibrerEt qu´on attend qu´elle crèveVu qu´c´est elle qu´a l´oseilleEt qu´on n´écoute même pasC´que ses pauvres mains racontentFaut vous dire, MonsieurQue chez ces gens-làOn n´cause pas, MonsieurOn n´cause pas, on compte

Et puis et puisEt puis il y a FridaQui est belle comme un soleilEt qui m´aime pareilQue moi j´aime FridaMême qu´on se dit souventQu´on aura une maisonAvec des tas de fenêtresAvec presque pas de mursEt qu´on vivra dedansEt qu´il fera bon y êtreEt que si c´est pas sûrC´est quand même peut-êtreParce que les autres veulent pasParce que les autres veulent pasLes autres ils disent comme çaQu´elle est trop belle pour moiQue je suis tout juste bonA égorger les chatsJ´ai jamais tué de chatsOu alors y a longtempsOu bien j´ai oubliéOu ils sentaient pas bonEnfin ils ne veulent pasParfois quand on se voitSemblant que c´est pas exprèsAvec ses yeux mouillantsElle dit qu´elle partiraElle dit qu´elle me suivraAlors pour un instantPour un instant seulementAlors moi je la crois, MonsieurPour un instantPour un instant seulementParce que chez ces gens-làMonsieur, on ne s´en va pasOn ne s´en va pas, MonsieurOn ne s´en va pasMais il est tard, MonsieurIl faut que je rentre chez moi.

Those People

First, first, there's the eldestHe, who's as big as a melonHe, who has a big noseHe, who doesn't know his name anymoreMister, since he drinks so muchHe drank so muchThat he can't two anything with his ten fingersBut he, who can't take it anymoreHe, who's completely drunkAnd who thinks he's the kingWho gets drunk every nightOn bad wineBut who we find, in the morning,Sleeping in the churchAs stiff as a gargoyleAs white as an Easter candleAnd who's babblingAnd whose eyes are ramblingI must say, MisterThat those peopleDon't think, MisterThey don't think, they pray

And then, there's the other oneWith carrots in his hairWho doesn't know what a comb isWho's as mean as a tineaSo mean, he'd even give the shirt off his backTo poor happy peopleWho married this DeniseA girl from the townI mean, from another townAnd, that's not allWho goes about his thingsWith his little hatWith his little coatWith his little carWho'd like to like one,But who doesn't look like one at allYou can't pretend to be richWhen you're pennilessI must say, MisterThat those peopleDon't live, MisterThey don't live, they cheat

And then, there are the other onesThe mother who doesn't say anythingOr says complete nonsenseFrom dusk until dawnFrom under her nice apostle faceAnd in her wooden frameThere's the moustache of the fatherWho died by slipping on the floorAnd who's watching his herdEating cold soupAnd they make big 'flchss'And they make big 'flchss'And then there's the very old oneWho won't stop vibratingAnd everyone's waiting for her to die'Cause she's the one who's got the moneyAnd no one ever listensWhat her poor hands are sayingI must say, MisterThat those peopleDon't talk, MisterThey don't talk, they count

And then, and thenAnd then there's this FridaWho's as beautiful as a sunAnd who loves me as muchAs I love FridaWe even tell each other quite oftenThat we'll own a houseWith plenty of windowsWith almost no wallsAnd that we'll live insideAnd that it'll feel good to be thereAnd that even though it's not sure,It's still a 'maybe'Because the others don't want toBecause the others don't want toThe others say, just like thatThat she's too beautiful for meThat I'm barely good enoughTo slit a cat's throatI never killed any catOr at least, not recentlyOr it's possible I've forgottenOr maybe they didn't smell goodWell, they don't want toSometimes, when we see each otherPretending that it's just a coincidenceWith her wet eyesShe says that she'll leaveShe says that she'll follow meAnd so for a momentOnly for a momentWell, I believe her, MisterFor a momentOnly for a momentBecause those peopleMister, they don't leaveThey don't leave, MisterThey don't leaveBut it's getting late, MisterI must get back home

Here one can find the English lyrics of the song Ces gens-là by Jacques Brel. Or Ces gens-là poem lyrics. Jacques Brel Ces gens-là text in English. Also can be known by title Ces gens-la (Jacques Brel) text. This page also contains a translation, and Ces gens-la meaning.