The thugs' hands are far too white
They're not the ones who would break stones
They walk with their hips resting on their hips
With softness in their knees
Let the thugs pass, see the big thugs!
They sell postcards
Where we see scantily dressed ladies
Or so Summer of Place Pigalle
They act calm and angry
Let the thugs pass, see the big thugs!
They are often in a nasty mood
Don't step on their toes
Especially if you're five feet tall
And forty kilos fully dressed
Let the thugs pass, see the big thugs!
Sometimes during election periods
They all turn into ©schoolchildren
To go to the local school
Vote several times without complaining
Let the thugs pass, see the big thugs!
But everything is not rosy in their lives
They kill each other, on street corners
Nothing in the Obituary section
We wash the sidewalk, and nothing more
Let the thugs pass, the big thugs!
Hey, we washed the sidewalk,
There, something happened thing?
Where then? Oh, no, oh, no, nothing!
Or at least, you know nothing important!