When he arrived
At the beautiful May
He knew no one
The Parisian
What is this fadli
With his gobi eyes?
Said the whole neighborhood
Who was spying on him

He's acting proud, this fool
Oh, Good Mother, what a jerk
He's not from Marseille
He's a sailing fool
We're going to smash
The tip of his nose

First day at the bar
He paid for the drinks
To all these crazy people
Not resentful
They got drunk
Until nightfall
To the health, poor thing
Of the stranger

He's acting proud because he's rich
Oh, Good Mother, what a show-off
He's a real fig-breaker
Say, is he from Martigues?
What can we care
About his money

The next day the cacou
Was walking everywhere
With his fiancée
Like a trophy
She was a beautiful girl
With a long chicken neck
He must have stolen her
From the chicken coop

He's acting proud, the Parisian
Oh, Good Mother, what a mess
Look, she has a butt almost
Like the door of Aix
Go shit in Endoume
Oh, fangoule

One day, to some kids
Who were playing ball
He said: "Oh, the kids
There's work to do
To win the match
You have to get up early
And go, Bouleguez
The broken arms"

He's acting proud, damn fool
Give him, poor thing, a pumpkin
And let him go to the Old Port
To do his stunts
He can even drown there
The stranger
The ship was born
With the caul
His team shone
Was worthy
With the butt, my faith
A little lined with anchovies
He made the Phocians
Europeans

He's acting proud and parading
La Cannebière, she admires him
But he also breaks
A little our alibafi
Because if we have the Cup
He has it too

After this adventure
He became mature
He wanted to replace
The deputy
He's good, this jobastre
For the 54
He's going to find himself
In Montfavet

He's acting proud and he would like
Oh, Good Mother, to scan us
Return to the capital
Or go to the pegal
Or to PSG
At the old men's

At the beautiful May
At the Goudes and the Panier
He didn't greet anyone
The Parisian
When he went back up
In his TGV
With his fiancée
And his money

He's acting proud, this fool
Oh, Good Mother, it's a strass
Beware, trains stop
Sometimes at Baumettes
After a little drink
At the Bishop's

Listen to my beautiful quique
This story is that
Of a madman, of a brêle
Of a bordille
Who didn't know that here
We love bandits
That we give friendship
To strangers

But if they are as proud as the pope
Oh, Good Mother, go, escape
Do good to Bertrand
He returns it by shitting
Give him the ball
Of our kids
As soon as he's a champion
He will want, this fool
To replace Gaston
That's not a question, damn fool

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