Les chansons méchantes / méprisantes / vachardes

Celle d'anal cunt qui a failli les faire virer de leur label :







Après pour ce groupe difficile d'en choisir une vu que toutes leurs chansons sont méchantes, méprisantes et vachardes, je retiendrai donc celle-ci :



Sur la baston entre Seth Putnam et Chris Barnes de Cannibal Corpse, avec le refrain qui parodie a skull full of maggots

You hid on your bus
You were afraid of us
You wouldnt fight me 'cause youre gay
You had your roadies save the day

[Chorus:]
Chris Barnes is a faggot youre fucking gay
Chris Barnes is a faggot youre a fucking faggot
Chris Barnes is a faggot your breath smells like cum
Chris Barnes is a faggot you like dicks up your ass

Youre a fucking midget, so you can blow guys without kneeling
You and Allen West met at a gay bar and wanted to start a band
You got kicked out of Cannibal Corpse because you suck
You started Six Feet Under and they suck too

[Chorus]

Ill fight you anytime you fag
But youll have your roadies fight for you
If youre so brutal, why wont you fight me by yourself?
You fucking cum guzzling faggot homo pussy

Dans un registre moins sauvage, je trouve cette chanson de Negative Approach assez haineuse :



people try to tell me what they think is right for me
think there's some value to what they got to say
but i won't listen to them
idon't need their advice
i wouldn't ever have it any other fucking way

can't tell no one what to do [x4]

rules are made for idiots people that can't think
i'm treated like i don't have a mind of my own
stupid fucking idiots with stupid fucking ideals
when will they ever fucking leave me alone

Phillipe Castelli, "grosse comme une baleine", un summum dans le domaine:

Elu clash le plus violent de l'histoire selon Wikipédia.. Mais j'aime bien

Ouais, bon, d'accord, certes, mais son adaptation est quand même bien faite (surtout le À coups de petits verres d'eau-de vie / La plus belle cuite de ma vie / Sera pour tes funérailles / Vieille Canaille ). On est tellement habitué aux adaptations moisies de standards américains en français que pour une fois qu'il y en a un pour relever le niveau, on pense que c'est l'originale !

listen girl well you got no brain
your body is all you have,
and that''s real shit
everybody used it
goodbye girl, you'll be on your way
I got things to do
because I know 'round the corner
there's many more like you
because I know you.

Ils sont assis comme des veaux parmi les papiers gras
Ils sont remplis de merguez, de frites et de coca
Ils écoutent la musique comme on regarde passer les trains
De toutes façons le son est merdique, la sono, c'est des gars du coin
Et la soirée s'étire, il ne se passe rien
Moi, je me sens tout seul, sous le feu des projecteurs
Pendant que le spectacle avance à toute vapeur
Je suis un rock'n'roll cow-boy
En sueur

Quand je vais dans le monde civilisé
Je vois des gens pas clairs, polis, mondains, rusés
Ils te sourient par-devant et t'assassinent par-derrière
Rien n'a changé dans l'Ouest à par les bonnes manières
Et quel que soit le régime, c'est la loi du plus fort
Moi, je me sens tout seul sous le feu des projecteurs
Pendant que le spectacle avance à toute vapeur
Je suis un rock'n'roll cow-boy
Qui a peur

Voilà qu'on me tire dessus du haut de ce balcon
Des canettes de bière, des tomates, des melons
Et moi j'avance de plus belle, à grands coups de décibels
Pour garder dans mon théâtre tous ces bovins opiniâtres
Qui vont de l'autre côté parce que c'est mieux éclairé
Et moi, je me sens tout seul sous le feu des projecteurs
Pendant que le spectacle avance à toute vapeur
Je suis un rock'n'roll cow-boy
Qui meurt... de soif ! ....

De Nino Ferrer il y a aussi "le retour de Monsieur machin".

Idiot Wind de Bob Dylan. On commence avec lui. Et on peut fermer le topic ici. On tient du lourd.
Dire qu'il écrit ça pour la même personne à qui il a déjà écrit "Sara" ou "If you see her say hello" sur le même album en plus!) .

Someone’s got it in for me, they’re planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they’d cut it out but when they will I can only guess
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me
I can’t help it if I’m lucky

People see me all the time and they just can’t remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts
Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at
I couldn’t believe after all these years, you didn’t know me better than that
Sweet lady

Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth
Blowing down the backroads headin’ south
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You’re an idiot, babe
It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe


I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven’t known peace and quiet for so long I can’t remember what it’s like
There’s a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin’ out of a boxcar door
You didn’t know it, you didn’t think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars
After losin’ every battle

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin’ ’bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin’ me see stars
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies
One day you’ll be in the ditch, flies buzzin’ around your eyes
Blood on your saddle


Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb
Blowing through the curtains in your room
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You’re an idiot, babe
It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe

It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn’t enough to change my heart
Now everything’s a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped
What’s good is bad, what’s bad is good, you’ll find out when you reach the top
You’re on the bottom


I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can’t remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes
don’t look into mine
The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the
building burned
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the
springtime turned
Slowly into Autumn

Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You’re an idiot, babe
It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe

I can’t feel you anymore, I can’t even touch the books you’ve read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin’ I was somebody else instead
Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your ragin’ glory

I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I’m finally free
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me
You’ll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
And I’ll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry

Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats
Blowing through the letters that we wrote
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves
We’re idiots, babe
It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves

Copyright © 1974 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2002 by Ram’s Horn Music

Sur Idiot Wind, à mon humble avis, ce serait purement vachard s'il n'y avait pas ces trois lignes :
"You’ll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
And I’ll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry"
pleines de lucidité au plus fort de la rage de la frustration. Et qui finissent sur une formule tellement simple et dépouillée. Je trouve çà plein de finesse et d'humanité.

Sinon, je m'étonne de ne pas avoir encore entendu citer le "You're so vain" de Carly Simon, qui est un classique du genre... et une bonne chanson, avec un joli petit chorus bien aguichant.

Airhead de Thomas Dolby.
Je ne vous sers pas le clip original, il est naze alors que cette chanson est de première ! Et ça groove !



AIRHEAD (Thomas Dolby)

I buy her all the right clothes
and pretty jewels to wear
my friends say she's a dumb blonde
but they don't know she dyes her hair
she thinks the fighting in Central America's easily solved
but what to wear to Bel-Air premieres
is a problem she could never resolve...

she's an airhead
stungun and mace - Kharmann Ghia plates say "Lost in Space"
she's an airhead
thousands in trust - cusp Aquarius - get serious
she's an airhead
tinted contacts don't change the fact that black is black
she's an airhead
and while I'm impressed with the length of those legs
she's not an intellectual giant....

she'd like to model or maybe act
or start a magazine
before she signs any contracts
I think she better learn to read
but in her dreams she's the queen of the fashion regime...
you ask me do I love you...
does the pope live in the woods?
quod erat demonstrandum, baby.
(ooo you speak French)

she's an airhead
stungun and mace - Kharmann Ghia plates say "Lost in Space"
she's an airhead
thousands in trust - cusp Aquarius - get serious
she's an airhead
tinted contacts don't change the fact that black is black
she's an airhead
and while I'm impressed with the size of her chest
she's not an intellectual giant....

sweet and low and oh-so
little Ms. Dora Jarre
safe sex and fishnets
and could you walk me to my car
she's losing faith in a world that is out of control
so she's gonna nix politics,
she's taking up volleyball! volleyball! why?

she's an airhead
stungun and mace - Kharmann Ghia plates say "Lost in Space"
she's an airhead
thousands in trust - cusp Aquarius - get serious
she's an airhead
and now the time's come for the end of my song,
don't get me wrong
if she's an airhead it has to be said
it was men made her that way
it was us made her that way
it was us made her that way!

Sex Pistols à propos des New York Dolls



An immitation from New York
You're made in Japan
From cheese and chalk
You're hipy tarts hero
'cos you put on bad show
Oh don't it show

Still oh out on those pills
Oh do you remember

Think it is well playing Max's kansas
You're looking bored
And you're acting flash
With nothing in your gut
You better keep yer mouth shut
You better keep yer mouth shut
In a rut

Still oh out on those pills
Do the sambo

You four years on
You still look the same
I think about time
You changed your brain
You're just a pile of shit
You're coming to this
Ya poor litlle faggot
You're sealed with a kiss
Kiss me

Think it's well playing in Japan
When everybody knows Japan is a dishpan
You're just a pile of shit
You're coming to this
Ya poor litlle faggot
You're sealed with a kiss

Still oh out on those pills
Cheap thrills anadins
Aspros anything you're condemned
To eternal bullshit
You're sealed with a kiss
Kiss me

A kiss a kiss you're sealed with a kiss
A looking for a kiss you're coming to this
I wanna kiss anything
Oh kiss this gay boy


La réponse de Jonny Thunders



You best believe I'm from New York city.

You're telling me 'shut your mouth'
If I wasn't kissing, you wouldn't be around
You talk about faggots, little moma's boy
You sit at home, you got a chaperone
You need an escort to take a piss
He holds your hand and he shakes your dick
You're so pretty, suburban kitty
You think you're gonna change, rearrange your city?

Little London boys
You're little London boys
You're little London boys
You think you're gonna fool me?
Ha ha ha ha

Little rich kid, what do you know?
You had everything, don't you think it don't show?
I've been a climbing, just a face to the wall
Too much too soon, do you recall?

Have a holiday in the city,
Feelings in the air, vasaline pretty
You don't need no drunk, just LSD
You're all big shots. Shot by me!


You're little London boys
You're little London boys
You're little London boys
And I'm talking about the whole audience.

Too bad you boys don't know
And the girls they don't go
Everybody just shows

You're little,
Little London boys
You're little London Boys
You're little London Boys
You're little London Boys
You're little London Boys
You're little London Boys
You're little,
You're little,
Little London boys
You're little London Boys

You poor little puppet

Dans le genre Règlement de compte, il y a aussi Zanz cant dance de John Fogerty, à propos de son ancien producteur ou boss de sa maison de disque, et qui a donné lieu à un procès, qui a entraainé un changement (léger) du titre si je ne m'abuse... La chanson s'écoute bien.

Au refrain :
Vanz can't dance, but he'll steal your money,
Watch him or he'll rob you blind.
Tout est dit, on ne saurait être plus direct :-)

&NR=1

Yeah

Loulou dans un de ses grands élans compassionnels (avec un plan Marvin Gaye)...


"Tu ferais mieux de la cogner"...

There she goes again
She's out on the streets again
She's down on her knees, my friend
But you know she'll never ask you please again

Now take a look, there's no tears in her eyes
She won't take it from just any guy, what can you do
You see her walkin' on down the street
Look at all your friends she's gonna meet
You better hit her

There she goes again
She's knocked out on her feet again
She's down on her knees, my friend
But you know she'll never ask you please again

Now take a look, there's no tears in her eyes
Like a bird, you know she would fly, what can you do
You see her walkin' on down the street
Look at all your friends that she's gonna meet
You better hit her

Now take a look, there's no tears in her eyes
Like a bird, you know she will fly, fly, fly away
See her walking on down the street
Look at all your friends that she's gonna meet

She's gonna bawl and shout
She's gonna work it
She's gonna work it out, bye bye
Bye bye baby
Ahhh...

Et du méchant "rigolo".


Je veux clouer ta tête à mon mur ce soir...

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...
Well, I'm gonna put your head on my wall
Just like I told you baby
You can't got no more
You can't eat no more, eat no more hot dogs
I'm gonna put your head, I put it on my wall

Now, baby don't you be, be afraid
'Cause you don't wanna eat, eat none today
Gonna put your head on my wall
And then you can't eat no more hot dogs

Oh yeah, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Oh yeah, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...

Come on baby, don't you be late
I want your head, I want it tonight
Cut your head off at half past eight
And have it on my wall 'bout half past ten

Yeah, come on baby, I want that head
Come on baby, I want that head
I want your head to hang on my wall tonight
Now honey, don't you be afraid
'Cause I'm gonna cut your head off
About a half past eight
Just like I said, I'm gonna cut your head off
And you can eat no more hot dogs
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-hi, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...

Dans le genre méchant "gimauve", à noter le "gong" d'un match de boxe à 2:37.



De Gilmour à destination de son grand pote Waters bien entendu:

eh eh eh :

Ils font rien qu’a nous faire des promesses
Qu’ils ne tiennent jamais
La seule chose qui les intéresse
C’est d’passer à la télé


Tout pomponnés
Tout maquillés
Ils viennent parler au journal
Pendant que monte du fond des cafés
Le son de la chorale

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Et puis y’a tous ceux qui font des débats
D’la philo à deux balles
Y’a c’ui qui est pour
Et y’a c’ui qui veut pas
Et ça parle et ça parle

Tout pomponnés
Tout maquillés
Ils viennent vendre leur salade
Pendant que monte du fond des cafés
La grande sérénade

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Et puis y’a moi qu’en fait partie aussi
Faut toujours que j’la ramène
Comme si on disait pas assez de conneries
Faut que j’y rajoute les miennes

Tout pomponnés
Tout maquillés
J’vous promets
J’vous en voudrais pas
Vous avez le droit du fond du café
De chanter aussi pour moi :

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Cette chanson je l’ai faite pour vous
Les français, les françaises
Allons enfants, ça s’ra notre hymne à nous
Notre marseillaise
A la maison, à ton bureau
Quand t’en auras marre d’écouter
Le casse-bonbon qui parle trop
Tu pourras lui chanter :

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça nous ferait des vacances
Ah si tu pouvais fermer ta gueule
Ça ferait du bien à la France

Passer de Bob Dylan à Patrick Sébastien ça fait mal quand même !

Une joyeuse et entrainante pour ce beau début de week-end :



When you first left me I was wanting more
But you were fucking that girl next door, what cha do that for (what cha do that for)
When you first left me I didn't know what to say
I never been on my own that way, just sat by myself all day

I was so lost back then
But with a little help from my friends
I found a light in the tunnel at the end
Now you're calling me up on the phone
So you can have a little whine and a moan
And it's only because you're feeling alone

At first when I see you cry,
yeah it makes me smile, yeah it makes my smile
At worst I feel bad for a while,
but then I just smile I go ahead and smile

Whenever you see me you say that you want me back
And I tell you it don't mean jack, no it don't mean jack
I couldn't stop laughing, no I just couldn't help myself
See you messed up my mental health I was quite unwell

I was so lost back then
But with a little help from my friends
I found a light in the tunnel at the end
Now you're calling me up on the phone
So you can have a little whine and a moan
And it's only because you're feeling alone

At first when I see you cry,
yeah it makes me smile, yeah it makes my smile
At worst I feel bad for a while,
but then I just smile I go ahead and smile

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala lalala

At first when I see you cry,
yeah it makes me smile, yeah it makes my smile
At worst I feel bad for a while,
but then I just smile I go ahead and smile

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala