French Selection 1961:
Isabelle Aubret - "Le gars de n'importe où"
Le gars de n'importe où
Il a bourré sa pipe
Il a rempli son verre
Du tabac dans son pipe
Et du vin dans son verre
C'était un soir d'hiver
De neige et de brouillard
Qui vous mangeait les nerfs
Et vous foutait l'cafard
Mais le gars fredonnait une rengaine idiote
Une chanson d'amour, de soleil et d'été
Pleine d'enfants tous nus, de palmes et de paillotes
Et plus le gars chantait, plus ça nous désolait
Et plus on parlait bas
Et plus on avait froid
Il a fumé sa pipe
En sifflotant son verre
Le tabac de sa pipe
Et le vin de son verre
On entendait dehors
Les volets décrochés
Claquer au vent du nord
Comme s'ils applaudissaient
La chanson que le gars filait du bous des lèvres
En regardant là-bas, bien plus loin que la nuit
Le col déboutonné, la casquette en arrière
Comme un marin content d'être rentré chez lui
Mais il était chez nous
Ce gars de n'importe où
Il a gratté sa pipe
Il a payé son verre
Des cendres dans sa pipe
Et plus rien dans son verre
C'était pas catholique
Ce grand coup de soleil
Dans cette drôle de boutique
Et par ce drôle d'hiver
C'était pas vrai, ce type
Sa chanson, sa lumière
Les cendres de sа pipe
Et le rond de ѕon verre
The guy from anywhere
He filled his pipe
He filled up his glass
With tobacco in his pipe
And wine in his glass
It was a winter evening
Snowy and foggy
That got on your nerves
And made you feel down
But the guy was humming a silly tune
A song of love, of sunshine, and of summer
Full of bare children, of palm trees, and of straw huts
And the more the guy sang, the more it saddened us
And the more we spoke quietly
The colder we got
He smoked his pipe
While whistling his glass
The tobacco from his pipe
And the wine from his glass
Outside, we heard
The unhooked shutters
Banging in the northern wind
As though they were applauding
The song that the guy was singing from the corner of his lips
While looking over there, even further than the night
His collar unbuttoned, his cap turned backwards
Like a sailor happy to have returned home
But he was in our house
This guy from anywhere
He cleaned his pipe
He paid for his drink
Ashes in his pipe
And nothing left in his glass
It wasn't Catholic
This bad sunburn
In this funny little shop
And in this strange winter
It wasn't true, this guy
His song, his light
The ashes from his pipe
And the rim of his glаsѕ
| Artist | Isabelle Aubret |
| Title | Le gars de n'importe où |
| Title (English) | The guy from anywhere |
| Songwriters | J. Datin, M. Vidalin |
| Language | French |
