Was there what? look at his face
And immediately we understood:
Mr. Browning, they called him,
A name that smacked of adventure.
It was the king of the revolver.
He had magnificent ones
That he had brought back from America,
Where? that we make real gangsters.
He told us his story,
His first crime and then glory,
Browning, Browning.
He showed us lots of 'photos
Taken on the first page of the newspapers,
Browning, Browning.
He told us: "You others in France,
You still lack experience ?ience.",
Browning, Browning.
With that, no need to be strong.
It's the clumsy one who is always wrong
And Long live Browning.
Because he had elegance
And cinema costumes,
He looked at us up and down
With contempt and insolence
And all our women, they admired him
"Ah! how does he look
And this guy?, what stature ."
But we, the men, he was chasing us.
It was always the same story:
His first crime and then glory,
Browning , Browning.
We saw it on the major newspapers,
Right? side by Greta Garbo,
Browning, Browning.
Listening to it, we became stupid.
All we had left in our heads,
Browning, Browning
And we thought "Fed up at the end!
He bores us, the American
And his Browning."
To teach us' the real way,
To give us a good lesson,
He insisted, this brave boy,
To show us his know-how.
It was in a restaurant
He wanted to do the experiment,
But the poor guy didn't have a chance.
As he took out his instruments,
He rolled? under the seat
With a little hole in the head,
Browning, Browning.
Oh? It didn't click? very strong
But all the same, he died,
Browning, Browning,
And then someone in the silence
Said “Now? whatever you think,
Browning, Browning?"
He doesn't think anything anymore since he's dead.
You talked too much... well you were wrong.
Bye-Bye, Browning

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