Wednesday, March 25, 2009

translation of a french song about young fathers

I translated this song from french group Fatal Picards (fatal = deadly, Picardie is an lesser known area of France) that shows the possible state of mind of young fathers...

it's originally called "Dors, mon fils" (Sleep, my son)

Sleep now
Sleep my son
Sleep now
Sleep my son

It's now three months that you make us live in hell
Without warning us, you made your mum three tons bigger,
Before she was listening to Led Zeppelin, was a goddess
Now she is just a balloon that listens only to Henri Dès
Our social life is ruined, we only talk to parents
My best friends gave me an appointment in ten years
Sex, I do not know what it is now,
Her breasts, only you touch them, all the time

It's five o'clock in the morning and I must get up to seven
I actually preferred that you finish me with a machete

Sleep now
Sleep my son
Sleep now
Or I call the militia

And perhaps they will make you chew gum
But with the foil
And maybe they will slide under your nails iron spikes
Or maybe they will just put sand under your eyelids

You understand what it is not to close your eyes since the day before
If you do not sleep right away, this is not the kind fairy that I will call

<...>

And when you're teen, I swear, you will suffer.
I will make you eat fat to make sure you have acne
And if despite all this, you bring a girlfriend
I show her where you hide your magazines

It is six o'clock in the morning within an hour I will go to the city hall.
I'm going to change your name to something nasty

<...>