Show of Boris Vian 1997
Boris Vian, born on March 10, 1920 in Ville-d'Avray and died on June 23, 1959 in Paris, is a French writer, poet, lyricist, singer, critic and jazz musician, artistic director.
THE DESERTER
Mister President
I am writing to you
What you may read
If you have the time.
I just received
My military papers
To go to war
Before Wednesday evening.
Mister President
I do not want to do it
I'm not on earth
To kill poor people.
It's not to get you angry,
I must tell you,
I've made my decision,
I'm going to desert.
Since I was born,
I saw my father die,
I saw my brothers leave
And crying my children.
My mother has suffered so much
That she is in her tomb
And mocks the bombs
And mocks the worms.
When I was a prisoner,
My wife was stolen,
My soul was stolen from me,
And all my dear past.
Tomorrow morning
I will close my door
At the nose of the dead years,
I'll go on the roads.
I will beg my life
On the roads of France,
From Brittany to Provence
And I will cry out to the people,
"Refuse to obey,
Refuse to do so,
Do not go to war,
Refuse to leave. "
If it is necessary to give blood,
Go give yours,
You are a good apostle
Mister President.
If you pursue me,
Notify your gendarmes
That I will not have weapons
And they can shoot. *
* The original poem has a different ending that was censored for the song
"That I carry weapons
And that I can shoot "
We were a group of 4 singers and 2 musicians, we sang songs of Boris Vian and we were called: Without drums or trumpets
It is the tango of butchers of the Villette
It is the tango of the killers of slaughterhouses
Come and pick the strawberry and the amourette
And drinking blood before it's all black
Must be bleeding
Must have people eating
Must have big bullets
It is necessary that the small ones can fatten
Must be bleeding
The attorneys at les Halles
May be full of slab
From the net to eight hundred balls
Must be bleeding
The skins must be tannered
Should the feet be panerated
Let the heads marinate
Must be bleeding
Must swallow from the barbaque
To be fatty when you slap
And feed comic worms
Must be bleeding
Well strong
It is the tango of the merry soldiers
Gay winners from all over the world
It is the tango of the famous va-t-en guerre
It is the tango of all the gravediggers
Must be bleeding
Press the bayonet
Must go back or get it
Otherwise you will have a big head
Must be bleeding
Demolished in a few
Too bad if it's cousins
Give them the grapes
Must be bleeding
If it's not you who crush them
The buddies will take the pupil
And you will play Short Life
Must be bleeding
Tomorrow it will be your turn
Tomorrow it will be your day
Pus of man and pus of love
Here! Here is some pudding! Here is some pudding!
Here is some pudding!
Couplet 1
Did you see a man with hair
Get out of the bathroom suddenly
Dripping through all hairs
And the mustache full of grief?
Have you seen a good ugly man
Eating Spaghetti
Fork in the fist, the asshole
Tomato sauce on his waistcoat
When they are beautiful, they are idiots
When they are old, they are awful
When they are grown up, they are feigning
When they are little, they are wicked
Did you see a man too big
Extract his legs from his dodo
Stomp the belly and grab the tifs
Looking at his feet thoughtfully?
Chorus 1
Do not marry, girls, do not marry
Do more of the cinema
Stay pucell 'at vot' papa
Dev'nez waitress at a bougnat
Have monkeys, have cats
Raise your paw at the Opera
Sell boxes of chocolate
Take the veil or take it
Dancing for the gagas
Be rough av'nue du Bois
But do not get married, girls
Do not get married
Couplet 2
Have you seen a man embarrassed
Returning late for dinner
Lipstick on her collar
Flageolating in the guibola
Did you see at the cabaret
A gentleman who is no longer very fresh
Rub with insistence
On a 'little flower of innocence
When they are stupid, they annoy you
When they are strong they do sports
When they are rich, they keep the artiche
When they are hard, they torture you
Have you seen your arm
A skinny man with rat eyes
Curling his three hairs of mustache
And straighten up, bravado
Chorus 2
Do not marry, girls, do not marry
Put on your gala dresses
Go dancing at the Olympia
Change lover four times a month
Take the embers and keep it
Hide the fresh under your mattress
At fifty years it will serve
To pay you nice little guys
Nothing in the head, everything in the arms
Ah, the beautiful life that it will be
If you do not marry, girls
If you do not marry
He rose at my approach
Standing, it was smaller
I thought it's in my pocket
This cute one is for my bed
It happened to me to the shoulder
But he was ragged like everything
He followed me to my room
And I shouted go my wolf
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
Fly me to heaven ... zoum!
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
I love 'love that makes boom!
He had only his socks
Yellow bells with blue stripes
He looked at me with a stupid eye
He understood nothing, the unfortunate
And he said to me sorry air
I would not hurt a fly
He upset me! I slapped him
And I grinned wildly
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
I am not a fly ... Bzzzzzzzz!
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
I love 'love that makes boom!
Seeing that he hardly excited himself
I savagely insulted him
I gave him all the names of the earth
And yet other less common
It woke him up as dry
And he told me to stop your cart
You really take me for a pauve guy
I'll take you out of the black series
You're hurting me, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
Not with feet ... Si.
You're hurting me, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
I love not love that makes bing!
He put on his little shirt
His little suit, his little shoes
He went down the stairs
Leaving me a shoulder
For thugs of this species
It is well worth the
Now I have blues full buttocks
And never again will I say
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
Fly me to heaven ... zoum!
Make Me Wrong, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny
I love 'love that makes boom!
I'm a snob ... I'm a snob
This is really the only fault I gobble
It takes months of trouble
It is a galley life
But when I go out with Hildegard
It's always me,
I'm a snob ... Fucking snob
All my friends are
We're snobs and it's good
Men's shirts, zebu shoes
Italy tie and wicked complete vermoulu
A ruby with the finger ... of foot, not that one
The nails all black and a very nice little handkerchief
I go to the cinema to see Swedish movies
And I enter the bistro to drink whiskey galore
I do not have a problem with the liver, nobody does more
I have an ulcer, it is less commonplace and more expensive
I'm a snob ... I'm a snob
I'm calling Patrick, but they say Bob
I do ch'val every morning
For I adore the smell of dung
I only frequent barons
To names like trombones
I am a snob ... Excessively snob
And when I talk about love
It's all naked in the courtyard
We meet with friends
Every Friday, to make snob-parties
There's coca, we hate it
And camembert that we eat with the small spoon
My apartment is really charming
I heat with the diamond, one can not dream anything more smoking
I had the TV, but it annoyed me
I've returned ... from the side it's exciting
I'm a snob ... I'm a snob
I am ravaged by this microbe
I have accidents in Jaguar
I spend the month of August at the plumard
It's in the small details like that
Whether one is snobbish or not
I'm a snob ... More snobbish than anything
And when I'm dead
I want a shroud from Dior!
And many others ...