Some are born into this world lucky
Some, on the other hand, are jinxed for life.
My father was, or so they say, a fat cat.
My mother was a skivvy in his house.
After the boss hit on her
and put a child into her besides,
my poor old Mum was swiftly booted out
by the woman of the house!
To feed me, my mother became a whore
As for me, I've been a rascal ever since.
Here we are, the night owls,
the yobs, the hooligans.
We do no bloody work.
In the day, we hide our eyes,
but in the evening we put on our caps.
Our wives work hard on the pavement1
while we're all comfy in our local.
We have a little card game with chaps like us,
rascals, yobs, night owls.
Make no mistake: we are no jacks of all trades.
We are just thieves and ???2, that's all.
We are never seen on the boulevards,
still in the evening, the posh and jaded guys, the vicious ones
with their popsies casting puppy-dog glances at us,
come to our dives to drown their blues in cheap red wine.
And as they dance, the girls beckon to us... Oh God !
We feel their flesh3 trembling in our arms,
so we hug them tighter and whisper to their ears:
Here we are, the night owls,
the yobs, the hooligans.
We do no bloody work.
In the day, we hide our eyes,
but in the evening we put on our caps.
Our wives work hard on the pavement
while we're all comfy in our local.
We have a little card game with chaps like us,
rascals, yobs, night owls.
Some think to be on the know.
Hah! They make me laugh with all their fuss.
We, we know very well how we'll meet our end,
the neck trapped in a guillotine,
unless one night a big bully, a butch
puts his blade through our skin.
It's over quickly, without holy water.
Our kids will inherit a lot of nothing,
when we the duffers croak in a nasty business.
Bah, this way or another, who gives a damn?
Here we are, the night owls,
the yobs, the hooligans.
We do no bloody work.
In the day, we hide our eyes,
but in the evening we put on our caps.
Listen to this, you the toffs
You'd better not cross paths with a rascal like me.
If my father had not acted like a lout,
I might have been a man just like you...
1. le Sébasto is the boulevard de Sébastopol, running north from the center of Paris, parallel to the rue Saint Denis (in)famous for its numerous prostitutes2. I scoured the Internet for this word, to no avail3. wrong transcription here. "chair" is what she sings