Lynda Lemay - Les maudits Français versuri traducere în engleză

The Damned French

Versions: #3
They speak with precise words
They pronounce all of their syllables
They always give each other kisses
They spend forever at each meal
 
They have incomprehensible menus
They drink water as if it were wine
They eat bread and then fois gras
And they find a way to not get fat
 
They protest every fifteen minutes
On every damned street corner
All of the taxis have drivers
That drive like madmen, bumper to bumper
 
And when they come to our country
It's for the winter and the Indians
And long walks on snowmobiles
Or on dog sleds
 
They have miniscule cups
and immense ashtrays
They make 'real' coffee for 'adults'
And they down it in two gulps
 
You find they great big German Shepards
And their little poodles
On the floor of the restaurants,
The grocery stores, the pharmacies
 
They say they dine when they have supper
And it's two o'clock when they have breakfast (this is a reference to a difference in dialect - in France 'dejuner' means lunch. In Quebec, it means breakfast).
In the morning, they eat yogurt -
They don't know eggs and bacon
 
At the end of the night, it's more saurkraut,
Duck breast, or escargots (snails)
Everything happens exactly to their taste
In the preparations of their damned veal's head
 
A bit of eyelid, a bit of gum (as in your mouth),
A bit of ear, a bit of lips
For the Quebequois' taste buds, it's a bit much
 
Then, they take us for martian
When we ask for a glass of milk,
Or when we ask, 'Where is the 'salle de bain', if you please'
(Here there is another play on regional dialects, in France, bathrooms are 'toilettes' and 'salle de bains' are literally 'rooms where you bathe)
 
And when they come to Quebec,
They put on a Toque (type of hat) and a Kanuk (type of coat)
And they start by searching for igloos
And finish in a sugar shack (reference to the maple syrup)
 
They quickly fall in love
With our forests and our lakes
And they start talking like us
After saying tabernacle (a type of dwelling)
 
And drunk on caribou
And on Molson (beer) and on much gin
They rave about our stews,
Our pork's feet (as in pickled), and our beans
 
They see that we don't have stinky cheese
And they get used to an old cheddar
And they stop complaining
About our bastard coffee (referencing that French coffee is much stronger)
 
When their stay is finally over,
They understand that they don't have the right
To call us Canadians
Because we are Quebecois (They are Quebecois first, then Canadiens)
 
They say goodbye with tears in their eyes
And maple syrup in their bags
They realize that we are like them
And we wish them safe travels
 
We give them a kiss goodbye
As if we'd always done so
And there is a missing piece of Quebec,
When the damned French leave.
 


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