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| Home → Sung by others → Jean Bertola → Dieu s’il existe |
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| Dieu s’il existe | God, if He exists | ||
| Au ciel de qui se moque-t-on? Etait-ce utile qu’un orage Vînt au pays de Jeanneton Mettre à mal son beau pâturage? Pour ses brebis, pour ses moutons, Plus une plante fourragère, Rien d’épargné que le chardon! Dieu, s’il existe, il exagère, Il exagère. Et là-dessus, méchant, glouton, Et pas pour un sou bucolique, Vers le troupeau de Jeanneton, Le loup sortant du bois rapplique. Sans laisser même un rogaton, Tout il croque, tout il digère. Au ciel de qui se moque-t-on? Dieu, s’il existe, il exagère, Il exagère. Et là-dessus le Corydon, Le promis de la pastourelle, Laquelle allait au grand pardon Rêver d’amours intemporelles - Au ciel de qui se moque-t-on? - Suivit la cuisse plus légère Et plus belle d’une goton. Dieu, s’il existe, il exagère, Il exagère. Adieu les prairies, les moutons, Et les beaux jours de la bergère. Au ciel de qui se moque-t-on? Ferait-on de folles enchères? Quand il grêle sur le persil, C’est bête et méchant; je suggère Qu’on en parle au prochain concile. Dieu, s’il existe, il exagère, Il exagère. |
In heaven, whom are they making fun of? Was it necessary for a storm To strike Jeanneton’s countryside And ravage her beautiful pasture? For her sheep and for her cattle, There is no more fodder, Nothing was spared but the thistle! God, if He exists, is overdoing it, He's overdoing it. And then the evil, greedy, And thoroughly unbucolic wolf Turns up in Jeanneton’s flock Emerging from the wood. Without leaving a scrap behind He devours everything, digests everything. In heaven, whom are they making fun of? God, if He exists, is overdoing it, He's overdoing it. And then there’s Corydon, The little shepherdess’s betrothed. While she was off to the Grand Pardon festival Dreaming of everlasting love -In heaven, whom are they making fun of?- He was chasing after a wench's shapelier And prettier legs. God, if He exists, is overdoing it, He's overdoing it. Farewell, the meadows and the sheep And the happy days of the little shepherdess. In heaven, whom are they making fun of? Must we pay so dearly for it? When hail falls on the parsley, It’s stupid and wicked; I suggest This matter is discussed at the next Council. God, if He exists, is overdoing it, He's overdoing it. |