Concurrence Déloyale

Il y'a péril en la demeure,
Depuis que les femmes de bonnes moeurs,
Ces trouble-fête,
Jalouses de Manon Lescaut 1,
Viennent débiter leurs gigots
A la sauvette.

Elles ôtent le bonhomme de dessus
La brave horizontale déçue,
Elles prennent sa place.
De la bouche au pauvre tapin
Elles retirent le morceau de pain,
C'est dégueulasse.

En vérité, je vous le dis,
Il y en a plus qu'en Normandie
Il y a de pommes. 2
Sainte-Madeleine 3, protégez-nous,
Le métier de femme ne nou-
rrit plus son homme.

Y a ces gamines de malheur,
Ces gosses qui, tout en suçant leur
Pouce de fillette,
Se livrent au détournement
De majeur et, vénalement,
Troussent leur layette.

Y a ces rombières de qualité,
Ces punaises de salon de thé
Qui se prosternent,
Qui, pour redorer leur blason, 4
Viennent accrocher leur vison
A la lanterne5.

Y a ces petites bourgeoises faux culs
Qui, d'accord avec leur cocu,
Clerc de notaire,
Au prix de gros vendent leur corps,
Leurs charmes qui fleurent encore
La pomme de terre.6

Lors, délaissant la fille de joie,
Le client peut faire son choix
Tout à sa guise,
Et se payer beaucoup moins cher
Des collégiennes, des ménagères,
Et des marquises.

Ajoutez à ça qu'aujourd'hui
La manie de l'acte gratuit
Se développe,
Que des créatures se font cul-
buter à l'oeil et sans calcul.
Ah! les salopes!

Elles ôtent le bonhomme de dessus
La brave horizontale déçue,
Elle prennent sa place.
De la bouche au pauvre tapin
Elles retirent le morceau de pain,
C'est dégueulasse.

Unfair Competition

There is danger brewing at home,

Ever since the women of good morals,

These spoilsports,

Jealous of Manon Lescaut,

Came to distribute their legs

Hastily.

They remove the guy from on top of

The good, decent prostitute

They take her place.

From the mouth of the poor whore

They remove the piece of bread,

It’s disgusting.

In truth, I tell you,

There are more than there are apples

In Normandy.

Saint Madeleine, protect us,

The profession of women no longer feeds

Their men.

There are these little girls of misfortune

These kids who, still sucking their

Little girl thumbs,

Give themselves to adult diversions

And, with payment,

Dress their layettes.

There are these high-quality, older, pretentious women

These bedbugs that infest tea rooms,

Who prostrate themselves,

Who, in order to re-gild their coats-of-arms,

Come to hang their minks

By the lantern.

There are those little, hypocritical bourgeoise women

Who, with the agreement of their cuckolded men,

Their notary clerks,

Sell their bodies at discount

Their charms that still herald the arrival of

The potato.

Then, abandoning the prostitute,

The client can make his choice

At his leisure,

And splurge more cheaply

On middle-school students, housewives

And noblewomen.

Add to that the fact that, nowadays,

The obsession for free sex

Develops,

That some creatures get themselves

Pushed onto their butts for free and without an ulterior motive.

Oh! The bitches!

They remove the guy from on top of

The good, decent prostitute

They take her place.

From the mouth of the poor whore

They remove the piece of bread,

It’s disgusting.