Le pornographe [English translation]

In the old days, when I was a kid

I was afraid of dirty words

And if I only thought "shit"

I wouldn't say it

But

Now that my livelihood

Is to talk like a vulgar buffoon

I don't think "shit" anymore, of course

But rather I say it

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

So as to play to the gallery

I spit out innuendos

Mouthfuls of crude words

Absolutely out of place

But

When I'm alone under my roof

In my psyche I'll point to myself

And shout: "Go, you wild man,

Stick it where the sun don't shine"

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

Every Saturday I'll go to confession

To admit to having talked of buttocks

And I promise firmly to the holy man

To make them taboo

But

Fearing, should I speak of them no more,

That I'll end up in the Salvation Army

I soon bring up

The ungodly buttocks again.

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

My wife, by the way,

Has a concupiscent character

Which spurs her into lying down naked

Under anybody

But

May I, let's be frank,

Speak of it at the café-concert

Without saying she has a strong case

Of an ass on fire?

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

I would probably find joy

And be given the Cross of Honour

For singing with decorum

Of the love that leads to Rome

But

My angel said to me: "Tut tut!

Singing of love is forbidden to you

If it does not blossom in the destiny

Of a whore"

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

And when, all jolly, I start singing

To the owner of a cabaret

A sweet Bucolic

He's melancholic

And

Says to me, his voice drowned with tears

"If it pleases you to sing of flowers

At least let them grow on Blondel street

In a whorehouse"

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

Every night before dinner

As I set foot on my balcony

I gaze upon good people

In the setting sun

But

Don't ask me to sing of that, if

You fear to hear then

That I like to see, from my balcony,

The cunts go by

I'm the pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

Good souls on this earth

Are firmly counting on it that upon my demise

Satan comes to skewer

The foul-mouthed dead man

But

May the Great Manitou

To whom a word is naught

Be se good as to allow in his Jerusalem

In that pale hour

The pornographer

Of the pornograph

The naughty boy

Of songs

• Artist:Georges Brassens