Ma petite couturière [English translation]

My little seamstress

She’s not haute couture

But you should see her when she sews

The hems to my heart

My little seamstress

Knows the measures

Of my frenzied heart

At work in the anthill

Holes in knits

And frayed stockings

Over time you see

Everything's made in factories

Gone are the artisans

Today you have “artists”

The hour belongs to spendthrifts

Bees in bodices

Throw out the reels

Yes, the film’s at its end

The gabardine’s time is past

Leave your job

To other workers

To others in solidarity

In other anthills

To other seamstresses

There’s a few lost eyelets

Hanging from button holes

When the stitches of seams

Become sutures of a regime

E-commerce embroiderers

It’s the age of unemployment

It’s the hour to throw in the towel

To dampen the handkerchiefs

Dress the skirts

Over rags of straw

’Cause all the bosses

Have left us down and out

with nothing to our name

My little seamstress

She’s not haute couture

She’s ready-to-wear

To bear the world

My little seamstress

Knows the measures

Of my frenzied heart

At work in the anthill

Finished the time of the cherries*

Scarves for two**

Even to the factory

One has to say goodbye

Thanks very much my dear master

Thanks very much my good sir

For always giving me something

To piss my eyes out***

They don’t speak for us

They sell our souls and that’s all

They’re good at making promises

And we’re good at playing the subordinate

The needle’s been planted

In the heart of our friends

Throw the dice at sewing

The future’s broken

Laces about our hearts

Chains at our feet

Gone are the flowers and buttons

Stashed in bustiers****

My little seamstress

She’s not haute couture

But you should see her when she’s at

The hems to my heart

My little seamstress

Knows the measures

Of my frenzied heart

At work in the anthill

Of my frenzied heart

At work in the anthill

My little seamstress

My little seamstress

My little seamstress

My little seamstress

My little my little my little seamstress

Working class men, nothing but a shadow left of our hearts

That we’ve left bleeding at the bottom of the gutter

On the avenues

The revolutionaries always stretch their hands out

To folks who have their reservations

Forever at the raging metal machines

At the factory

She’s going back to work

She’s going back to the mine

My pretty doll

She assembles, she tightens our bolts

She’s not haute couture

She’s rather ready-to-wear

To bear the world

My little working class gal

Is busy in the anthill

She’s going back to fight

’Cause everything is turning around here

Quite madly, I should add

’Cause everything is turning around here

Quite madly, I should add

Yes yes yes

Quite madly

Quite madly

Yes yes yes

Quite madly

Quite madly

Among the bourgeois lackies

If it’s rather Versailles

That floats their rebellious boat

Grannies’ rock n’roll

If it isn’t the age

Where comrades dream

Of friends and solidarity

If that’s not in vogue

If the age is fashion

Every night at the job

When it starts to be misery

I think I’d always prefer

The machine

My little seamstress

She tightens the bolts

To say that we’re sorry for

The assembly lines now

In countries of warmer climes

In countries with lower salaries

In countries of greater beauty

The working class girl is lost

Seeks a change of profession

The boss has closed down

All the cotton fields

The boss has closed down

All the cotton fields

The boss, the boss, the boss