I’ve lived in the lonely city
I crawled out from the lonely city, singin’...


Now I’m back in my hometown county
Doin’ jack in my hometown county, singin’...


I can’t make no God damn money
I just can’t make no money, singin’...


I travel to the busy city,
I crawl out to the busy city, singin’...


There I’m gonna make me some money,
People there gonna give me some money, while they’re singin’...


Got a song for the busy city,
I wrote a song for the busy city,
But will they ever stop and listen...? Please stop and listen...

You say write me a song that’s never been sungOh I’ll do my best with theserecycled expressions on the tip of my tonguetired out chords, give it a rest
My mama said no one’s the sameand her mama told her that toowell I guess it’s not an unfair claimbut all I know is deja vu
Because it’s old news, I hate to break it to yaOld news, but I’m sure you already knowThat what I say tomorrowwell it’s just something borrowedIt’s old news
But nobody’s got a love like we doSo much more than hearts and glitterNo you just can’t compare us toThose other couples you see on twitter…No, it’s really not, it’s
I know it may seem redundant
But really why would I try?Because though words may be abundantEach one’s been wrung out dry
We’re all just looking for greased moldsTo slide easily intoAnd do what you’re told
they don’t care what you’ve been throughAfter all, somebody somewhereHas known what you’ve knownSeen what you’ve seenFelt what you’ve felt

And now it’s
Old news, I hate to break it to youOld news, but I’m sure you already know
That what I say tomorrowWell it’s just something borrowedIt’s old news
Hate to break it to youOld news, but I’m sure you already know
That what I say tomorrowwell it’s just something borrowedIt’s old news

Je tourne en rond dans ma boutique,J'en ai ma claque j'en ai ma clique.J'vends des souvenirs au bout d'la place,Toute une camelote qui s'entasse,Mais tout ce commerce est en berne,Depuis que c'est mon mec qui le gouverne.

Oh! mais là faut que ça cesse!J'suis plus de la première jeunesseSi je veux vivre de mes breloques,Il faut que j'le mette à la porte!
Mais qui va m'réchauffer l'café?Partager mes coups dans l'nez?Me dire que j'suis la plus belle,Pendant que je fais la vaisselle?

Et dès qu'arrivent les touristes,Le voilà qui se met en piste!Il terrorise les gamins,Et les parents font du tintouin,Et s'il entre une bonne sœur, Monsieur, grossier,Insulte le seigneur!


English translation :
RENGAINE

I go round and round in my boutique,I can’t stand it anymoreI sell souvenirs at the end of the square,A load of tat piling upBut because business is badSince my guy took over
Oh
! it’s got to stopI’m no longer in the prime of youthIf I must live from my trinketsI’ll have to chuck him outBut who’s gonna make my coffeeShare the one over the oddsTell me I am the prettiestWhile I’m doing the washing-up
And as soon as the tourists arrive,Then his show beginsHe terrorizes the kidsAnd the parents make fussAnd if a none comes in, Monsieur, uncouth,Insults the Good Lord