Les Pauvres Petits Fachos

All singers have a little refrain
To sing along in the hall
To inform the citizen well
About the threat of the National Front
After the concert, the little Nazis
Seeing what they've been hit with
Go back home, cry all night
Must not make them funnier.

Wipe your tears with your handkerchief
My little fascist, tell yourself it's nothing
We will sing the nightmare
Of your sad little daily life
Tell what the fear of the dark really is
Every night when you go to bed and turn off the lights
And it will renew the repertoire
Of the song that commits to nothing...

Because you have to know it's not a piece of cake
To be a good little far-right guy...
Oh no, really it's not a piece of cake
To be a good little far-right guy...

Shaved head, every morning,
You have to shave your head carefully:
You spend a lot on beauty products
And the worst is that it's all just to be ugly...
At night, beating up left-wing guys
Or going to beat up Arabs
By handling the pickaxe handle
You always end up with blisters on your hands...
One, two, you try to walk like that
Blaring the Wehrmacht tunes,
But you're not good at goose-stepping
It looks more like the duck dance...

You'd like to repopulate France
But on that side, you have no luck:
By constantly raising your arm in the air
Like an SS, to say hello,
You have to shout loudly Heil Hitler
To get hard otherwise you're limp...
Every time you find a nice cemetery
To go paint swastikas
Some little jerks have been there before you
Just to do like on TV...

You're too young to have known the war
You always ask yourself the same question...
You think about what your grandfather experienced
And you wonder if, under the occupation,
You would have had the courage to make
The choice of collaboration?
But what makes you angry today
Is hearing journalists say
That among Le Pen's voters
There are many former communists...
Even worse to bear,
Since Muslims and Jews
Don't need you to kill each other
What are you, that's not fair.