Original Title: "Mon pot' le gitan"
Text: Jacques Verrières
Music: Marc Heyral
Year: 1955
My pal the Gipsy is an odd fellow
A mug all black, eyes all blue
He stays for hours without saying a word
Sitting beside the stove, at the bottom of the bistrot
That guy, a caravan wanders in his head,
And when it travels, never does it stop
A whole bunch of sceneries come out of his eyes
My pal the Gipsy, is one odd fellow
My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy
And in our bistrot, noboby understands him
Like all those guys, he has his guitar
A dirty guitar which makes you brood
When he starts playing, the old caravan
runs wild in his head, the belote players stops
And nothing no more, we hurt inside.
My pal the Gipsy is not a funny guy
My pal the Gipsy left one day
And God only knows where he trails his life
That guy was a great musician
That I was certain of, I felt it
The boss told me someone came looking for him
A great music hall wanted to buy him
My pal the Gipsy, he refused, a shrug, and he left
I had the feeling to lose a friend,
And yet that guy never told me anything
But he left me a piece of his caravan
And in my small head, there is some dream wandering
His weird music, stayed inside of me
When I think of him, it happens I sing
You, damn Gipsy who smelled of the blues
Afterall your music was full of hope.
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