Margot

From afar you get tangled up, ragged and flashy
As if you were born in the dirt of a slum convent
Because there's something about you that sells, I don't know if it's the look
The way you sit, dress, stand
Or your body used to the cheap clothes

That body that marks the tempting beats
To the candombe of some tango in the arms of a good guy
While your silhouette triumphs and your colorful outfits
Amidst laughter and compliments
From young followers amidst the smoke of cigars and
The champagne of Armenonville

They're lies, it wasn't the tough, arrogant compadre
Nor a veteran thug who led you to vice
You rolled because of your own fault and it wasn't innocent
The airs of a flashy person you had in mind
Since the day a thug from his slum sharpened you

You always go with friends to drink fine liquors
To luxurious private rooms of the Petit or Julien
And your old, poor mother washes all week
To be able to put food on the table with Franciscan poverty
In the old tenement lit by kerosene

I remember you had almost nothing to wear
Today you wear silk lingerie with rococo roses
Your presence annoys me, I'd pay not to see you
Even your name has changed as your luck has changed
You're no longer my daisy, now they call you Margot!