Accordéon

God, life is cruel
To the musician of the alleys
His friend, his companion
It's the accordion
Who is it that helps him live?
To sit down when he gets drunk?
Is it you, is it me, but no?
It's the accordion

Tune, tune, tune then
Alms to the accordionist

They're like 'em in the pants'
And when we give them a fine
He accompanies the violin
His accordion
He spends a peaceful night
Then in the morning he gives
A little air in his lungs
From the accordion

Tune, tune, tune then
Alms to the accordionist

When sometimes he destroys
His little mother-of-pearl buttons
He steals some from his jacket
For the accordion
Borrows his suspenders
To rescue the string
That holds his pants
In accordion

Tune, tune, tune then
Alms to the accordionist

But one day, out of weariness
He'll let solitude
Appear on the horizon
From the accordion
He'll get fifty
Centimes at the flea market
And we'll pay more attention
To the accordion

Tune, tune, tune then
Alms to the accordionist