The joy girl is beautiful
At the corner of the street over there
She has a clientele
Who fills her stocking
When her job is over
She goes in her turn
To seek a bit of dream
In a ball of the suburb
Her man is an artist
He's a funny little guy
An accordionist
Who knows how to play the java

She listens to the java
But she doesn't dance it
She doesn't even look at the dance floor
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous game
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like singing
It's physical
Her whole being is tense
Her breath is suspended
She's a real music freak

The joy girl is sad
At the corner of the street over there
Her accordionist
He's gone soldier
When he comes back from the war
They will take a house
She will be the cashier
And he will be the boss
Life will be beautiful
They will be real pashas
And every evening for her
He will play the java

She listens to the java
She hums it softly
She sees her accordionist again
And her loving eyes
Follow the nervous game
And the dry and long fingers of the artist
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like crying
It's physical
Her whole being is tense
Her breath is suspended
She's a real music freak

The joy girl is alone
At the corner of the street over there
The girls who sulk
Men don't want them
And too bad if she dies
Her man will not come back
Goodbye all the beautiful dreams
Her life, it's screwed
Yet her sad legs
Take her to the dive
Where there's another artist
Who plays all night

She listens to the java
She hears the java
She has closed her eyes
And the dry and nervous fingers
It gets under her skin
From the bottom, from the top
She feels like yelling
It's physical
So to forget
She started to dance, to spin
To the sound of the music

Stop!
Stop the music!

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