Hécatombe
Georges BrassensOriginal | An English Version by William Hinshaw |
HÉCATOMBE | HECATOMB |
Au marché de Briv'-la-Gaillarde, A propos de bottes d'oignons, Quelques douzaines de gaillardes Se crêpaient un jour le chignon. A pied, à cheval, en voiture, Les gendarmes, mal inspirés, Vinrent pour tenter l'aventure D'interrompre l'échauffourée. | Over their onions in braids, On Briv'-la-Gaillarde market day, Several dozen strapping young maids Were stirring up quite a melee. On foot, ahorse, in their vans, The coppers, outside their purvey, Came to try out their hands At busting up the affray. |
Or sous tous les cieux sans vergogne, C'est un usage bien établi, Dès qu'il s'agit de rosser les cognes Tout le monde se réconcilie. Ces furies, perdant tout' mesure, Se ruèrent sur les guignols, Et donnèrent, je vous l'assure, Un spectacle assez croquignol. | But under these shameless skies It's long been considered the style After beating the crap out of these guys For all to reconcile. Each Fury laid into her Clown, This time quite out of control, Producing, I will be bound, A show that was great to behold. |
En voyant ces braves pandores Etre à deux doigts de succomber, Moi, je bichais, car je les adore Sous la forme de macchabées. De la mansarde ou je réside, J'excitais les farouches bras Des mégères gendarmicides, En criant: " Hip, hip, hip, Hourra! " | Seeing these coppers tormented, Retreating, near breaking rank, Me, who'd be well-contented With each carried out on a plank, From the attic where I reside My hussies did I inveigh All the way to gendarmicide By shouting "Hip, hip, hooray!" |
Frénétique, l'une d'elles attache Le vieux maréchal des logis, Et lui fait crier: " Mort aux vaches! Mort aux lois! Vive l'anarchie! " Une autre fourre avec rudesse Le crâne d'un de ces lourdauds Entre ses gigantesques fesses Qu'elle serre comme un étau. | Frenetically, one gal grabbed a big Sergeant and forced the ol' cuss To cry: "Down with law! Kill the Pig! It's Up With Anarchy for us!" The head of one of these sons, Another broad crammed in a thrice, Between her gigantic buns Which squeezed on it just like a vice. |
La plus grasse de ses femelles, Ouvrant son corsage dilaté, Matraque à grand coup de mamelles Ceux qui passent à sa porté'. Ils tombent, tombent, tombent, Et, selon les avis compétents, Il paraît que cette hécatombe Fut la plus belle de tous les temps. | The chubbiest battle-ax Her swelling blouse did unclasp And bludgeoned with great tit-whacks Those who passed near her grasp. Each dupe went down to his doom And by expert estimation, It appears that this hecatomb Is the all-time best oppugnation. |
Jugeant enfin que leurs victimes Avaient eu leur content de gnons, Ces furies, comme outrage ultime, En retournant à leurs oignons, Ces furies, à peine si j'ose Le dire, tellement c'est bas, Leur auraient même coupé les choses: Par bonheur ils n'en avaient pas! | Judging at last that each gudgeon Had taken all he could bear, These Furies, now in high dudgeon, Going back to their market square, These Furies, depravation's epitome, Dare I tell it, for truly it's base, Would'ave cut the bulls' lowest anatomy, But by luck, t'cops'ad none in that place. Would'ave cut the bulls' lowest anatomy, But by luck, t'cops'ad none in that place! |