La chanson paillarde que vous avez dans la tête

[Tuck pendleton]

Excellent

[AlexRow]

There was a tinker lived of late
Who walked the streets of Rye
He bore his pack upon his back
Patches and plugs did cry
O I have brass within my bag
My hammer's full of metal.
And as to skill I well can clout
And mend a broken kettle

A maiden did this tinker meet
And to him boldly say
For sure, my kettle hath much need
If you will pass my way
She took the tinker by the hand
And led him to her door
Says she my kettle I will show
And you can clout it sure

For patching and plugging is his delight
His work goes forward day and night

Fair maid says he
Your kettle's cracked
The cause is plainly told
There hath so many nails been drove
Mine own could not take hold
Says she it hath endured some knocks
and more it may i know
I'm sure a large large nail will hold
If it was struck in so

For patching and plugging is his delight
His work goes forward, day and night

The Tinker of Rye (Paul Giovanni)

[bronski]

Comme le topic sur les chansons "normales" est fermé (?), je poste ici:

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because she was making it with sisters and brothers
And everyone else, all of the others
Like cheap officers who would stand there and flirt in front of me

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because of the things that they heard she had done
The black Air Force sergeant was not the first one
And all of the drugs she took, every one, every one

And I am the Water Boy, the real game's not over here
But my heart is overflowin' anyway
I'm just a tired man, no words to say
But since she lost her daughter
It's her eyes that fill with water
And I am much happier this way

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because number on was the girl friend from Paris
The things that they did - ah - they didn't have to ask us
And then the Welshman from India, who came here to stay

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because of the things she did in the streets
In the alleys and bars, no she couldn't be beat
That miserable rotten slut couldn't turn anyone away

I am the Water Boy, the real game's not over here
But my heart is overflowin' anyway
I'm just a tired man, no words to say
But since she lost her daughter
It's her eyes that fill with water
And I am much happier this way

Lou Reed - The Kids

[Karras]

Berlioz en serait peut être l'auteur

Spoiler (cliquez pour afficher)

LE POU ET L'ARAIGNÉE

Un jour un pou dans la rue
Rencontra, chemin faisant,
Chemin faisant,
Une araignée bon enfant,
Elle était toute velue,
Elle vendait du verre pilé
Pour s'ach'ter des p'tits souliers.



REFRAIN :
Là tu m', là tu m'emmerdes,
Là tu m', là tu m'fais chier.
Tu nous emmerdes.
Tu nous fais chier.
Tu nous emmerdes.
Tu nous fais chier.
Et l'on entend dans les champs
S'masturber les éléphants.
Et l'on entend dans les prés
S'enfiler les chimpanzés.
Et l'on entend sous les ormeaux
Battre la merde à coups d'marteau.
Et l'on entend sous les plumards
Battre le foutre à coups d'braquemarts.
Non, non, non, non, Saint Eloi n'est pas mort, (bis)
Car il bande encore, (bis)


Le pou, qui voulait la séduire,
L'emm'na chez l'mastroquet du coin,
Troquet du coin.
Lui offrit cinq à six coups d'vin,
L'araignée ne fit qu'en rire.
La pauvrette ne savait pas,
Qu'elle courait à son trépas.

Le pou, qui n'était qu'une canaille,
Lui offrit trois francs six sous,
Trois francs six sous.
Trois francs six sous, c'est pas beaucoup
Va, tu n'es qu'un rien qui vaille.
Si tu n'mets pas six sous d'plus,
Tu n'verras pas l'trou mon cul !

Alors, commencèrent les horreurs,
Le pou grimpa sur l'araignée,
Sur l'araignée.
Il n'pouvait plus décoller,
Tant il éprouvait d'bonheur.
Si bien qu' la pauvre araignée,
Ecopa d'la maternité.

Le père, d'l'araignée, en colère,
Lui dit : "Tu m'as déshonoré,
Déshonoré.
Tu t'as laissée enceintrer !
T'es encore plus putain qu'ta mère".
La pauvrette de désespoir
S'est filée treize coups d'rasoir. (s'est noyée dans une pissoire)

Le pou, le désespoir dans l'âme,
Se tire la barbe, s'arrache les ch'veux,
S'arrache les ch'veux.
Ah! qu'il dit, "Y-a plus d'bon Dieu"
Puis il monte à Notre-Dame,
Et c'est là, qu'il s'a foutu
Les cinq doigts et l'pouce dans l'cul.

Alors les poux du voisinage,
Se réunirent pour l'enterrer,
Pour l'enterrer,
Au cimetière de Champerret,
Tout comme un grand personnage.
A que c'était triste à voir
Tous ces poux en habit noir.

En version soft :

[AlexRow]