Romain Didier — D'Irlande song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "D'Irlande" by Romain Didier.
Lyrics
Un dernier bock five o’clock au fond des docks
On refait le monde et tout le monde il s’en moque
La bière est bonne, les marins en redemendent
On trinque aux cousins partis si loin D’Irlande
Partis, Thomas, Charly,
Bryan,
Mary, Emily et Dylan
Cognez les verres soyez ronds comme la terre
Ce soir on rentrera comme hier à l’envers
Trinquez au ciel, à la mer, à Boby Sand
A la république aux putains et l’Irlande
La lune est rousse on les bouches qui moussent
Charly est pété, faut le rentrer in the house
Changez les fûts, voilà Mary et sa bande
Elle a les yeux verts come la mer et l’Irlande
Whisky pour Charly et Bryan
Mary, Emily et Dylan
Ça bat son plein on tient les verres dans les poings
Un char britannique a flambé neuf ce matin
Maindans la main, on ressemble à une guirlande
Le ventre bombé d’avoir trop bu D’Irlande
Y a du brouillard, la nuit joue d’la cornemuse
On est noirs comme elle mais la nuit a des excuses
La der de der y'à deux cent bras qui se tendent
On tiendra debout adossés à l’Irlande
Good bye, Thomas, Charly, Bryan
Mary, Emily et Dylan
Y a deux cent yeux, une boule de feu dans les tripes
Seven o’clock, chantent les coqs au fond d’la lande
Tout le monde s’en moque sauf les putains D’Irlande
Tout le monde s’en moque sauf les putains D’Irlande.
Lyrics translation
One last bock five o'clock at the bottom of the docks
We make the world again and everyone makes fun of it
The beer is good, the sailors are asking for it again
We drink to the cousins gone so far from Ireland
Gone, Thomas, Charly,
Bryan,
Mary, Emily and Dylan
Knock the glasses be round as the Earth
Tonight we will return as yesterday upside down
Toast to the sky, to the sea, to Boby Sand
To the Republic to the whores and Ireland
The moon is red on the mouths that foam
Charly's farted, we gotta get him in the house.
Change the barrels, there's Mary and her gang.
She has green eyes like the Sea and Ireland
Whiskey for Charly and Bryan
Mary, Emily and Dylan
It's in full swing we're holding the glasses in our fists
A British tank flared new this morning
Handin the hand, it looks like a garland
Bulging belly from having too much to drink from Ireland
It's foggy, the night plays bagpipes
We're black like her but the night has excuses
The der de der y'a two hundred arms that stretch
We will stand against Ireland
Good bye, Thomas, Charly, Bryan
Mary, Emily and Dylan
There are two hundred eyes, a fireball in the gut
Seven o'clock, the Roosters sing at the bottom of the moor
Everybody doesn't care except the whores of Ireland
Everyone doesn't care except the fucking Irish.