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| Western Europe: France | |
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| Dors Min P'Ti Quinquin Sleep, my little one | |
Original text | |
Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Ainsi, l'aut' jour eun' pauv' dintellière, In amiclotant sin p'tit garchon Qui d'puis tros quarts d'heure, n'faijot qu'braire, Tâchot d'linformir par eun' canchon. Ell' li dijot : Min Narcisse, D'main, t'aras du pain n'épice Du chuc à gogo Si t'es sache et qu'te fais dodo ! Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Et si te m'laiche faire eun'bonn'semaine J'irai dégager tin biau sarrau, Tin pantalon d'drap, tin giliet d'laine... Comme un p'tit milord te s'ras farau ! J't'acat'rai, l'jour de l'ducasse Un porichinell' cocasse, Un turlututu, Pour jouer l'air du capiau-pointu... Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Nous irons dins l'cour Jeannette-à-Vaques Vir les marionnett's. Comme te riras, Quand t'intindras dire : "Un doup pou' Jacques !" Pa' l'porichinell' qui parl' magas. Te li mettras din s'menotte, Au lieu d' doupe, un rond d'carotte ! It' dira merci !... Pins' comme nous arons du plaisi !... Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Et si par hasard sin maite s'fâche, Ch'est alors Narcisse, que nous rirons ! Sans n'n'avoir invi', j'prindrai m'n air mache J'li dirai sin nom et ses surnoms, J'li dirai des fariboles I m'in répondra des drôles Infin un chacun Verra deux pestac' au lieu d'un Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Allons serr' tes yeux, dors min bonhomme J'vas dire eun' prière à P'tit Jésus Pou' qu'i vienne ichi, pindant tin somme, T'fair'rêver qu'j'ai les mains plein's d'écus, Pour qu'i t'apporte eun'coquille, Avec du chirop qui guile Tout l'long d'tin minton, Te poulèqu'ras tros heur's de long !... Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main L'mos qui vient, d'Saint'Nicolas ch'est l'fête Pour sûr, au soir, i viendra t'trouver It' f'ra un sermon, et t'laich'ra mette In d'zous du ballot, un grand painnier. I l'rimplira, si tes sache, D'séquois qui t'rindront bénache, San cha, sin baudet T'invoira un grand martinet Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main Ni les marionnettes, ni l'pain n'épice N'ont produit d'effet. Mais l'martinet A vit' rappajé l' petit Narcisse, Qui craignot d'vir arriver l'baudet Il a dit s'canchon dormoire... S'mèr' l'a mis dins s'n ochennoire : A r'pris sin coussin, Et répété vingt fos che r'frain. Dors, Min p'tit quinquin, Min p'tit pouchin, Min gros rojin Te m'fras du chagrin Si te n'dors point ch'qu'à d'main | |
English Translation | |
Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow The other day, a lacemaker, this way, While cradling her little boy, Who since forty minutes was only crying, Tried to get him to sleep with this song. She was telling him : "My Narcisse, Tomorrow you'll get gingerbread, Candies à gogo If you stay still and sleep!" "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" "And if you allow me to make a good week, I'll go get your nice smock, Your bluejean and your wool waistcoat. You'll be pompous as a little Milord! I'll get you, on fair day, A funny puppet, And a reed pipe For you to play the "Capiau Pointu" tune" "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" "We"ll go into the Jeannette-à-Vaques See the puppet show. Oh, how you'll laugh When you'll hear "A dime for Jacque!" By the mean puppet. You'll give in his bag Instead of a dime, a carrot slice! He will thank you... Think about how much we'll be joyful!" "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" "And if, by any chance, his master gets hungry, It's then, Narcisse, that we'll laugh! I'll take my mad appearance, I'll tell him some home truths I'll tell him some nonsense And he will answer me some others But each one We see two shows instead of one!" "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" "Come on, close your eyes my little one, I'm gonna tell little Jesus some prayers For him to come here during your sleep; For you to dream of hands full of money, For him to bring you a brioche With trickling honey All over your chin You will lick yourself for hours...!" "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" "Next month, it's Saint Nicolas celebration For sure he will come to you at night He will lecture you but he'll let you put Beside the fireplace, a big basket. He will fit it, if you're well-behaved With things that makes you happy But without that, his donkey Will send you a martinet." "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" Neither puppets nor gingerbread Had an impact. But the martinet Quickly calmed down the little Narcisse Who was afraid of seeing the donkey coming. He told his lullaby And his mother put him into his cradle. She took back her lacemaker cushion And repeated this refrain twenty times: "Sleep, my little one My little pet, my nice flower You'll make me sad If you don't sleep 'til tomorrow" Credits Song: French folk song Composer: Alexandre Desrousseaux Music video: Courtesy of Kaloutch Text & translation: Floppylou on lyricstranslate.com Copyright: Fair use principle, for educational purposes. | |
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