There are a lot of people
On Pierre Charon street
It's two in the morning
The robbery has failed

I have a bullet in my stomach
Another one in my lung
I lived in Sarcelles
I'm dying on the Champs Élysées

I see the whole of France from the depths of my darkness
The scavengers are here, death does not come alone
I have human stupidity as my funeral oration
The gaze of the curious as my only shroud

It serves you right
You're just a little bastard
We won't mourn
It serves you right

The local baker has left his ovens
To come and spit on my already cold body
He says, I'm not racist but still the Arabs
Every time there's a dirty trick, well they have to be involved

Sir, I would like to point out that I did Indo-China
Says a former paratrooper to some opportunists
These guys are scum, they're worse than the Vietmines
You have to shoot them down first and discuss later

It serves you right
You're just a little bastard
We won't mourn
It serves you right

The hooligans who are here will surely get lynched
If they continue to say that the cops are murderers
That we are human beings even if we are crooks
And that my execution is not legitimate

And if they took your mother or your brother hostage
Says a Basque beret father to a young leather jacket
And if it was your son who was lying on the ground
"Nose in his misery" replies the young man to finish

It serves you right
You're just a little bastard
We won't mourn
It serves you right

And Mr. white blackcurrant continues his delirium
Convinced that my soul is already with the devil
That my death was too soft that I deserved worse
I hope in Hell I will find these wretches

I'm not a hero, I got what I deserved
I'm not to be pitied, I'm almost lucky
When I think of my friend who is only injured
He's going to end his days in the shadow of a gallows

It serves him right
He's just a little bastard
We won't mourn
It serves him right

She's not seventeen, this girl who cries
Thinking that at her feet there is a dead man
Whether he's a cop or a crook, she doesn't care, her modesty
Like her few tears warm my body

There are a lot of people
On Pierre Charon street
It's two in the morning
My blood flows into the stream

It's the blood of a thug who dreamed of millions
I have millions of stars at the bottom of my vault
I have millions of stars at the bottom of my vault

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