Prince of burglars and break-ins
You who had the good taste to choose my house
While I was peddling my trinkets
In your honor, I composed this song

Know that I appreciate the gesture for its worth
That made you close the door well when leaving
For fear that prowlers would take the rest
Proper thieves are rare these days

You only stole from me what was strictly necessary
Leaving disdainfully the execrable portrait
That was given to me on my birthday
What a good art critic you would make, my bastard

Another sign indicating no defect
Respectful of the brave worker, you did not
Think it decent to deprive me of my guitar
Holy solidarity of craftsmanship

For all these reasons, you see, I forgive you
Without ulterior motive after careful examination
What you stole from me, my old man, I give it to you
It couldn't have fallen into better hands

Besides, me who is talking to you, with my little songs
If I hadn't had to meet success
I would have, like you, turned dishonest
I would have become your accomplice, who knows

When selling your loot, beware of bargaining
Don't let everything go on sale to the receivers
Hold them high in the dragee by evoking the adage
Which says that these people are worse than thieves

Strong from the fact that I did not call the gendarmes
Don't think you are at all obliged to come back
Your slightest relapse would abolish the charm
Let me, please, on a good memory

Burglar, my friend, may my goods benefit you
May Mercury preserve you from prison
And not too much remorse, besides we are quits
After all, don't I owe you a song

Post-Scriptum, if theft is the art you prefer
Your only vocation, your unique talent
Then set up shop, go into business
And you will have the cops even as customers

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