L'accordéoniste

The girl of joy is beautiful
At the corner of Labas street
She has a clientele
Who fills her stocking
When her job is done
She goes on her way
To find a bit of dream
In a dance hall of the suburb
Her man is an artist
He's a funny little guy
An accordionist
Who knows how to play the java

She listens to the java
But she doesn't dance it
She doesn't even look at the dance floor
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous play
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like singing
It's physical
Her whole being is tense
Her breath is suspended
She's truly twisted by the music

The girl of joy is sad
At the corner of Labas street
Her accordionist
He left to be a soldier
When he returns from the war
They will get a house
She will be the cashier
And he will be the boss
How beautiful life will be
They will be true pashas
And every evening for her
He will play the java

She listens to the java
Which she hums softly
She sees her accordionist again
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous play
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like crying
It's physical
Her whole being is tense
Her breath is suspended
She's truly twisted by the music

The girl of joy is alone
At the corner of Labas street
The girls who are sulking
Men don't want them
And too bad if she dies
Her man won't come back
Farewell to all the beautiful dreams
Her life is ruined
Yet her sad legs
Take her to the dive bar
Where there's another artist
Who plays all night

She listens to the java
She hears the java
She closed her eyes
The dry and nervous fingers
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like screaming
It's physical
So to forget
She started to dance, to spin
To the sound of the music

Stop!
Stop the music!