Le pornographe

Back in the day, when I was a kid
I was afraid of big words, I admit
And if I thought shit under my breath
I wouldn't say it

But now that my bread and butter
Is talking like a rascal
I don't just think shit, damn
I say it

I'm the pornographer
Of the phonograph
The naughty one
Of the song
To entertain the crowd
I spit out vulgarities
With full mouths of raw words
Completely out of place

But, when I find myself alone under my roof
In my mind I point at myself
And shout: Go screw yourself, you incorrect man
Go see the Greeks

Every Saturday I go to confess
To confess talking about asses
And I solemnly promise the marabout
To keep them taboo

But, fearing, if I stop talking about them
I'll end up at the Salvation Army
I soon bring up again
The sinful buttocks

My wife, by the way
Is of a lustful nature
That urges her to lay naked
With the first comer

But, may I ask, let's be honest
Can I talk about it at the cabaret
Without saying that she has, very sharp
A fire in her ass?

I would probably have happiness
And maybe the Legion of Honor
To sing with decorum
About love that leads to Rome

But, my angel told me: Turlututu
Singing about love is forbidden to you
If it doesn't end up in
A whore's destiny

And when I cheerfully sing
To a cabaret owner
An adorable bucolic song
He becomes melancholic

And tells me, his voice filled with tears
Please sing about flowers
At least those that grow on Blondel Street
In a brothel

Every evening before dinner
Putting my nose out on the balcony
I watch the good folks
In the setting sun

But, don't ask me to sing about that, if
You fear hearing here
That I enjoy watching, from my balcony
The idiots pass by

The good souls down here
Are convinced that at my demise
Satan will come to impale
This foul-mouthed dead man

But, may the great spirit
For whom words mean nothing at all
Admit in his Jerusalem
At the bleak hour
The pornographer
Of the phonograph
The naughty one
Of the song