C’était Moi - Gilbert Bécaud

Celui qu’on appelait le voyou de la plage,

Qui vivait tout l'été jambes nues, cheveux fous,

Qui ne pavait jamais les gaufres ni les glaces,

Qui te jetait de l’eau, des algues et des cailloux,

C'était moi!

Mais qui savait le nom des quatre mille étoiles

Et te prenait la main pour mieux te les compter,

Qui faisait d’un orage une carte postale

En dessinant ton coeur sur le sable mouillé,

C'était moi, c'était moi!

Celui qui se disait professeur de tendresse,

Qui se moquait de toi quand tu ne voulais pas,

Celui qui se vantait d’avoir eu des princesses

Et de se fiancer, mais de n'épouser pas,

Mais qui riait trop fort en ouvrant ton corsage

Ou qui ne riait plus en touchant tes genoux,

Qui s’endormait tout doux sur ton épaule sage,

Qui t’appelait «pas belle"et qui t’aimait beaucoup,

C'était moi, c'était moi!

Celui qui plaisantait, un matin de septembre,

En piquant une rose à ton manteau de pluie,

Qui te disait «Salut, on allait bien ensemble.»

Et n’en a plus dormi ni le jour ni la nuit,

Celui qui ne sait plus ni ton nom ni ton âge,

Qui ne sait rien de toi, mais que tu es jolie,

Oublie-le ce garçon qui crânait sur la plage

Et croyait tout savoir et n’avait rien compris,

C'était moi, c'était moi!

J’avais quinze ans,

C'était moi!

The one they used to call the beach thug,

Who lived all summer with bare legs, crazy hair,

Who never paved waffles or ice cream,

Who threw water, seaweed and pebbles at you,

It was me!

But who knew the name of the four thousand stars

And took your hand to better count them,

Who made a postcard out of a storm

Drawing your heart on the wet sand,

It was me, it was me!

He who called himself a teacher of tenderness,

Who laughed at you when you didn't want to,

The one who boasted of having had princesses

And to get engaged, but not to marry,

But who laughed too hard opening your bodice

Or who no longer laughed touching your knees,

Who fell asleep softly on your wise shoulder,

Who called you "not beautiful" and who loved you very much,

It was me, it was me!

The one who was joking, one morning in September,

By stealing a rose from your raincoat,

Who said "Hi, we were great together."

And slept no more day or night,

He who no longer knows your name or your age,

Who knows nothing about you, but that you are pretty,

Forget that boy who was saucy on the beach

And thought he knew everything and understood nothing,

It was me, it was me!

I was fifteen,

It was me!