Le mauvais sujet repenti

She had a waist made for show
Full hips
And she was hunting for guys
Around the Madeleine
In her way of saying to me: My rat
Am I tempting you?
I saw I was dealing with
A newbie

She had the gift, it's true, I admit
She had the genius
But without technique, a gift is nothing
But a dirty habit
Sure, you don't become a whore
Like you become a nun
That's at least what they preach, in Latin
At the Sorbonne

Feeling filled with pity
For the girl
I taught her, about her trade
The little tricks
I taught her the way to soon
Make a fortune
By moving the spot where the back
Looks like the moon

Because, in the art of walking the street
I confess
The hard part is knowing how
To shake your ass
You don't wiggle your butt
The same way
For a druggist, a sacristan
A civil servant

Quickly taught by
My good services
She invested me, in part
Of her profits
We helped each other
As the poet says
She was the body, naturally
And I was the brains

One night, following
Doubtful maneuvers
She fell victim to a
Shameful disease
Then, in all good faith, all friendship
As a decent girl
She passed me half
Of her germs

After sharp injections
Of antiseptic
I gave up the job of being a
Systematic cuckold
She could cry her heart out
Scream at the top of her lungs
Since I was just a bastard
I made myself honest

As soon as deprived of my guidance
My poor friend
Ran to wipe off the filth
Of the brothel
Apparently, she even sells herself to cops
What decadence!
There's no more public morality
In our France