First, First, there’s the firstborn
Who’s like a melon
Who’s got a big nose
Who no longer knows his name, Mister
Because he drinks
Or because he’s drunk
Who doesn’t do anything
But who can’t hold more
Who is completely done for
But who pretends to be the king
Who gets drunk every night
With some bad wine
But who we find in the morning
Sleeping in the church
Stiff as a ledge
White as an Easter candle
And who mumbles
And whose eye is divagating
I must say, Mister
That among those people
We don’t think, Mister
We don’t think, we pray
And here comes the other
Carrots in his hair
Who’s never seen a comb
Who’s a nasty piece of work (?) (well, a nasty man)
And who would give his shirt
To some poor happy fellows
Who married “the” Denise
A girl from the city
Well… from another city
And that’s not over yet
Who’s doin’ his small business
With his small hat
With his small coat
With his small car
Who’d love to look good
But who’s not good at all
Don’t play the rich men
If you don’t have a penny
I must say, Mister
That among those people
We don’t live, Mister
We don’t live, we cheat
And then, come the others
The mother, who never says a word
Or who talks nonsense
And from the evening to the morning
Under his apostle face
And into his wooden framework
There’s the father’s moustache
Who died from a slide
And who watches his herd
Gobbling up the cold soup
And it’s doin’ slurrrrp
And it’s doin’ slurrrrp
And then comes the elderly
Who never stops to thrill
And they’re waiting for her to die
Because she got the money
And they don’t listen to
What her poor hands tell
I must say, Mister
That among those people
We don’t talk Mister
We don’t talk, we count
And then, and then
And then, there is Frida
Who’s nice like a sun
And who loves me the same
That I love Frida
And we often tell each other
That we’ll have a house
With lots of windows
With hardly no walls
And that we’ll live in here
And that it’ll be fine
And if it’s not sure
At least, it’s “maybe”
Because they don’t want
Because they don’t want
The others, they say something like
She’s too good for me
That I’m just good for
Strangling cats
I’ve never killed any cat
Or maybe a long time ago
Or I forgot
Or he smelt so bad
Well, they don’t want
Well… they don’t want
Sometimes when we see each other
Pretending it’s unintentional
With her wet eyes
She says she’ll go
She says she’ll follow me
So for a moment
For a moment only
So I believe her, Mister
For a moment
For a moment only
Because among those people, Mister
We don’t go Mister
We don’t go
I'll try a translation:
Those people
First, First, there’s the firstborn Who’s like a melon Who’s got a big nose Who no longer knows his name, Mister Because he drinks Or because he’s drunk Who doesn’t do anything But who can’t hold more Who is completely done for But who pretends to be the king Who gets drunk every night With some bad wine But who we find in the morning Sleeping in the church Stiff as a ledge White as an Easter candle And who mumbles And whose eye is divagating I must say, Mister That among those people We don’t think, Mister We don’t think, we pray
And here comes the other Carrots in his hair Who’s never seen a comb Who’s a nasty piece of work (?) (well, a nasty man) And who would give his shirt To some poor happy fellows Who married “the” Denise A girl from the city Well… from another city And that’s not over yet Who’s doin’ his small business With his small hat With his small coat With his small car Who’d love to look good But who’s not good at all Don’t play the rich men If you don’t have a penny I must say, Mister That among those people We don’t live, Mister We don’t live, we cheat
And then, come the others The mother, who never says a word Or who talks nonsense And from the evening to the morning Under his apostle face And into his wooden framework There’s the father’s moustache Who died from a slide And who watches his herd Gobbling up the cold soup And it’s doin’ slurrrrp And it’s doin’ slurrrrp And then comes the elderly Who never stops to thrill And they’re waiting for her to die Because she got the money And they don’t listen to What her poor hands tell I must say, Mister That among those people We don’t talk Mister We don’t talk, we count
And then, and then And then, there is Frida Who’s nice like a sun And who loves me the same That I love Frida And we often tell each other That we’ll have a house With lots of windows With hardly no walls And that we’ll live in here And that it’ll be fine And if it’s not sure At least, it’s “maybe” Because they don’t want Because they don’t want The others, they say something like She’s too good for me That I’m just good for Strangling cats I’ve never killed any cat Or maybe a long time ago Or I forgot
Or he smelt so bad Well, they don’t want Well… they don’t want Sometimes when we see each other Pretending it’s unintentional With her wet eyes She says she’ll go She says she’ll follow me So for a moment For a moment only So I believe her, Mister For a moment For a moment only Because among those people, Mister We don’t go Mister We don’t go
But it’s late, Mister I’ve gotta go home.
Great song.