Ceci n’est pas une chanson

Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard
But I think:
All bondage, up yours!

Yo, this is Bran Man giving a shout out to all the Paris suburbs
All the London hounds, all the New York hound dogs
And the NDG, misguided
You know it

Ceci n’est pas un retour aux années 70
Ceci n’est pas une chanson à répondre
Ceci n’est pas une déclaration d’amour ratée
Ceci n’est même pas une chanson

Ceci n’est pas une arbre à grimper
Ceci n’est pas un hommage a mon père
Ceci n’est pas ma raison d’être, tabarnak
Ceci est une pomme, des nuages, deux pommes, mon visage

Was the night before New Year’s Eve
I felt a curious desire for donuts
I dragged my sorry ass to the city of Laval
Where she drank from a Tim Horton’s promo cup
She read Paris Match by the toilet
Some crap on John Holiday
I tried desperately to avoid it
But that’s when she looked my sorry-ass way

I say goodbye to your sorry-ass ways
I say goodbye to your sorry-ass ways

She said the space you stand in is not even space
And the music not even song
The sadness you see coming deep within me
Has been your sadness all along
So don’t pretend to be so perfect
I’m quite content in my travelling gear
What you see is not just a coffee girl
In spite of the fact, of the fact, that I’m not even here

Sounds just like a foxfire

C’est en tournant les pages du plus récent Paris Match
Que je me suis posé, proposé cette question:
Pourquoi? Trois points de suspension
Why not, ostie
Why not, ostie

And the snow fell like crushed aspirin
On that catholic holiday
She left me sideways like a crooked lawyer
Hungover as the one he played
So don’t pretend like you are with me
Because I am thinking that there is no struggle
But you put me up, got me up from the fungle
‘Cause there is no struggle in my sorry-ass way

I say goodbye to X8
Say goodbye to your sorry-ass ways
I say goodbye to
I say goodbye to

People fly
People fly
People fly
People fly