I have my rheumatism
Which is becoming bothersome
My poor Cecile
I am seventy-three years old
I lounge in the deck chair
And I have a babysitter
I dragged my leg less
When I was a singer

I had white boots
A big belt
An open shirt
On a medallion
It was my smile
My major asset
I had a blast like a beast
When I was a singer

One evening in Saint-Georges
I was at the fair
My wife was waiting
Hidden, in the Mercedes
She was thrown into the Indre
By all my fan club
I had a crazy life
When I was a singer

The police
Recognized me
The speeding tickets
I never paid them
All my stories
Were sorted out on time
They forgave all my excesses
When I was a singer

My poor Cecile
I am seventy-three years old
I learned that Mick Jagger
Died recently
I celebrated Sylvie Vartan's farewell
For me, it's been over for a long time
I don't understand much, today
But I still hear things that I like
And it distracts my life

For me, it's been over for a long time
I don't understand much, today
But I still hear things that I like
And it distracts my life

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