Margot

From afar you can tell, cheeky and cunning
That you were born in the misery of a slum convent
There's something that sells you, I don't know if it's the look
Or your body used to the cheap clothes
That body that today marks the tempting beats
Of the candombe of some tango in the arms of some fool
While your silhouette triumphs and your colorful dress
Amidst the smoke of cigars and the champagne of Armenonville

They are lies, it wasn't a tough, lazy or arrogant man
Nor an experienced pimp who led you to vice
You rolled because of your own fault, not innocently
The airs of a fancy woman that you had in mind
Since the day a magnate dazzled you with his shine!

I remember, you had almost nothing to wear
Now you wear silk lingerie with rococo roses
Your presence annoys me, I would pay not to see you
Even your name has changed along with your luck
You are no longer my Margarita, now they call you Margot!

You always go with the suckers to act like a fancy woman
To a luxurious private room at Petit or Julien
And your mother, poor mother! Washes all week
To put food on the table, with Franciscan poverty
In the sad tenement lit by kerosene