Les Copains d'abord

Georges Brassens

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Georges Brassens

Brassens was born in the town of Sète, a town in southern France near Montpellier. Now an iconic figure in France, he achieved fame through his elegant songs with their harmonically complex music for voice and guitar and articulate, diverse lyrics; indeed, he is considered one of France's most accomplished postwar poets. He has also set to music poems by both well-known and relatively obscure poets, including Louis Aragon (Il n'y a pas d'amour heureux), Victor Hugo (La Légende de la Nonne, Gastibelza), Jean Richepin, François Villon (La Ballade des Dames du Temps Jadis), and Antoine Pol (Les Passantes). During World War II, he was forced by the Germans to work in a labor camp at a BMW aircraft engine plant in Basdorf near Berlin in Germany (March 1943). Here Brassens met some of his future friends, such as Pierre Onténiente, whom he called Gibraltar because he was "steady as a rock." They would later become close friends. After being given ten days' leave in France, he decided not to return to the labour camp. Brassens took refuge in a small cul-de-sac called "Impasse Florimont," in the 14th arrondissement of Paris, a popular and working class district, where he lived for several years with its owner, Jeanne Planche, a friend of his aunt. Planche lived with her husband Marcel in relative poverty: without gas, running water, or electricity. Brassens remained hidden there until the end of the war five months later, but ended up staying for 22 years. Planche was the inspiration for Brassens's song Jeanne. Apart from Paris and Sète, he lived first in Crespières (near Paris) and latterly in Lezardrieux (Brittany). (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges_Brassens)


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Non, ce n'était pas le radeau 
De la Méduse, ce bateau, 
Qu'on se le dis' au fond des ports, 
Dis' au fond des ports, 
Il naviguait en pèr' peinard 
Sur la grand-mare des canards, 
Et s'app'lait les Copains d'abord 
Les Copains d'abord. 

Ses fluctuat nec mergitur 
C'était pas d'la littératur', 
N'en déplaise aux jeteurs de sort, 
Aux jeteurs de sort, 
Son capitaine et ses mat'lots 
N'étaient pas des enfants d'salauds, 
Mais des amis franco de port, 
Des copains d'abord. 

C'étaient pas des amis de lux', 
Des petits Castor et Pollux, 

Des gens de Sodome et Gomorrh', 
Sodome et Gomorrh', 
C'étaient pas des amis choisis 
Par Montaigne et La Boeti', 
Sur le ventre ils se tapaient fort, 
Les copains d'abord. 

C'étaient pas des anges non plus, 
L'Evangile, ils l'avaient pas lu, 
Mais ils s'aimaient tout's voil's dehors, 
Tout's voil's dehors, 
Jean, Pierre, Paul et compagnie, 
C'était leur seule litanie 
Leur Crédo, leur Confitéor, 
Aux copains d'abord. 

Au moindre coup de Trafalgar, 
C'est l'amitié qui prenait l'quart, 
C'est elle qui leur montrait le nord, 
Leur montrait le nord. 
Et quand ils étaient en détresse, 
Qu'leur bras lancaient des S.O.S., 
On aurait dit les sémaphores, 
Les copains d'abord. 

Au rendez-vous des bons copains, 
Y'avait pas souvent de lapins, 
Quand l'un d'entre eux manquait a bord, 
C'est qu'il était mort. 
Oui, mais jamais, au grand jamais, 
Son trou dans l'eau n'se refermait, 
Cent ans après, coquin de sort ! 
Il manquait encor. 

Des bateaux j'en ai pris beaucoup, 
Mais le seul qui'ait tenu le coup, 
Qui n'ait jamais viré de bord, 
Mais viré de port, 
Naviguait en père peinard 
Sur la grand-mare des canards, 
Et s'app'lait les Copains d'abord 
Les Copains d'abord.

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Submitted by davidb on January 01, 2018

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