City - Brigitte Fontaine

Le pays pardonné

Explose de fleurs blanches

Les gratte-ciel dorés

S’inclinent vers les branches

La vapeur azurée crachée par les moteurs fait rire et rêver

Près des parcs en chaleur

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Des barbus impudiques

Au fourreau lamé vert

Jouent les statues antiques

Montés sur des rollers

Des assassins candides

Aux tee-shirts maculés

Aux braguettes splendides

Font craquer les pédés

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La poudre vanillée

Au fort piment qui grise

Effleure les mosquées

Et les coupoles grises

Un grand jardin d’enfants

Qui font ce qui leur plait

Côtoie des bâtiments

Où roule la monnaie

Four roses dans le nez

Un Black sur le trottoir

Songe au milieu des pieds

Blancs jaunes rouges noirs

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Le printemps frais saoulant

Tout grouillant d'écureuils

Comme des chiens gourmands

Marque la fin du deuil

Orientale écaillée

L'énorme messe en Si

Est reine de beauté

Du continent maudit

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The Forgiven Land

Explodes of white flowers

golden skyscrapers

Bow to the branches

The azure steam spewed by the engines makes laugh and dream

Close to hot parks

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Immodest bearded men

In green lamé scabbard

Play the ancient statues

Mounted on rollerblades

candid killers

To stained t-shirts

With splendid flies

Make the fags crack

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vanilla powder

With hot pepper that intoxicates

Touch the mosques

And the gray cupolas

A large kindergarten

Who do what pleases them

Next to buildings

Where the currency rolls

Four roses in the nose

A Black on the sidewalk

Think in the middle of the feet

white yellow red black

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Drunk Fresh Spring

All swarming with squirrels

Like greedy dogs

Marks the end of mourning

Scaled Oriental

The Huge Mass in B

Is a beauty queen

From the cursed continent

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