Lyrics of 'La butte rouge' by Zebda
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Sur c'te butte là, y'avait pas d'gigolette,
Pas de marlous, ni de beaux muscalins.
Ah, c'était loin du moulin à galettes,
Et de paname, qu'est le roi des pat'lins
C'qu'elle ne a bu, du beau sang, cette terre,
Sang d'ouvriers et sang de paysans,
Car les bandits, qui sont causes des uerre,
N'en meurrent jamis, on n'tue que les innocents
La butte rouge, c'est son nom,, l'bapteme s'fit un matin
Où tous ceux qui grimpèrent, roulèrent dans le ravin
Aujourd'hui y'a des vignes, il y pousse du raisin
Qui boira d'ce vin là boira le sang de ses copains
Sur c'te butte là, on n'y fait pas la noce,
comme à Montmartres où le champagne coule à flots.
Mais les pauv' gas qu'avait laissé des gosses,
I f'saient entendre de pénibles sanglots
C'quelle en a bu, des larmes, cette terre,
Larmes d'ouvriers et larmes de paysans,
Car les bandits, qui sont cause de guerre,
Ne pleurent jamais, car ce sont des tyrans
La butte rouge, c'est son nom, l'bapteme s'fit un matin
Où tous ceux qui grimpèrent roulèrent dans le ravin
Aujourd'hui y a des vignes, il z pousse du raisin
Qui boira d'ce sang la, boira les larmes de ses copains
Sur c'te butte là, on y r'fait des vendanges,
On y entend des cris et des chansons.
Filles et grs, doucement, y echangent,
Des mots d'amour, qui donnent le frisson
Peuvent-ils songer dans leurs folles étreintes,
Qu'à cet endroit où s'échangent leurs baisers,
J'ai entendu, la nuit, monter des plaintes,
Et j'y ai vu des gars au crâne brisé.
La butte rouge, c'est son nom, l'bapteme s'fit un matin
Où tous ceux qui grimpèrent, y roulèrent dans le ravin
Aujourd'hui y a des vignes, il y pousse du raisin
Mais moi j'y vois des croix, portant l'nom des copains.
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