This is a 1902 polka song from the singer-songwritter Félix Mayol and sung by François Morel.
Although the music is a German song.
During the Belle Epoque (1871-1914) Café-concerts or cabarets were at the heart of Parisian life. Less formal than the Opera, it enabled people of all classes to enjoy a night out. A series of “cabots” (Transient singers) would perform songs for light entertainment.
Felix Mayol was “The King of the Caf-conc” in those days.
This song talks about a young couple of blue collar workers looking forward to enjoy a night out at the Café-concert and the song progresses to other folks, such as the married couple with children, the policeman who leaves his duty to enjoy a night out and the politician, who, realising that this speech had not interest to others, or even irritated the crowd; went straight from his function to enjoy an evening of entertainment with his wife at the Café-concert.
Felix Mayol used those different characters to highlight the democratisation of entertainment and how the café-concerts enabled all classes to mingle.
The language is of the time, and many words or expressions would no longer be in use in French. But the song remains easy to understand by any French speaker and is written in a very humorous, informal tone.
It is a precursor of “Saturday Night Fever”, people forgetting the hard week and their problem enjoying music and dancing on Saturday nights.
Le samedi soir après l’turbin
L’ouvrier parisien
Dit à sa femme pour le dessert
J’te paie l’café-concert
On va filer bras-d’ssus bras-d’ssous
Aux Galeries à vingt sous
Mets vite une robe,
faut te dépêcher
Pour être bien placé
Car il faut
Mon coco
Entendre tous les cabots
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Quand j’entends des chansons
Ça me rend tout polisson
Ah !
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Souviens-toi que c’est comme ça
Que je suis devenu papa.
Un petit tableau bien épatant
Quand arrive le printemps
C’est d’observer le charivari
Des environs de Paris
Dans les guinguettes
au bord de l’eau
Au son d’un vieux piano
On voit danser les petits joyeux
Criant à qui mieux mieux
Hé le piano !
Tu joues faux !
Ça n’fait rien mon petit coco.
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Ce soir je t’emmène … où ?
A la cabane bambou
Hou !
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Et l’on danse plein d’entrain
La “polka des trottins”
Avec sa femme un brave agent
Un soir rentrait gaiement
Quand tout à coup, jugez un peu,
On entend des coups de feu
C’était messieurs les bons apaches
Pour se donner du panache
Qui s’envoyaient quelques pruneaux
Et jouaient du couteau
Le brave agent
Indulgent
Dit à sa femme tranquillement :
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Pourquoi les déranger
Ça pourrait les fâcher
Ah !
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Ne te mets pas en émoi
Ils se tueront bien sans moi
Deux vieux époux tout tremblotants
Marient leurs petits-enfants
Après le bal vers les minuit
La bonne vieille dit
A sa petite-fille tombant de sommeil :
Je vais te donner les conseils
Qu’on donne toujours
aux jeunes mariés
Mais le grand-père plein de gaieté
Dit doucement :
Bonne maman
Laisse donc ces deux enfants
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Les petits polissons
N’ont pas besoin de leçons
Ah !
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Je suis bien certain ma foi
Qu’ils en savent plus que toi
Un député tout frais nommé
Invitait sa moitié
À venir entendre un grand discours
Qu’il prononçait le même jour
Mais à peine a-t-il commencé
Qu’on lui crie : C’est assez
Constitution! Dissolution!
Pas d’interpellation !
Ahuri
Abruti
Il prend son chapeau et dit :
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
Je ne veux pas devenir sourd
Pour vingt-cinq francs par jour
Ah !
Viens poupoule,
Viens poupoule, viens !
C’est bien assez ma foi
D’être attrapé par toi.
On Saturday night, after the grind,
the Parisian worker
says to his wife, for dessert,
I’ll treat you to the café concert
We’ll dash off, arm in arm
to grab the cheap seats
Go put on your frock
We need to hurry
to get good seats
We must,
my sweet
Hear all the singers.
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
When I hear those songs,
It makes me feel all saucy
Oh!
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
Remember, that’s how
I became a daddy.
A cracking little picture
When spring starts,
Is to watch the suburban Shivaree
at the guinguettes
by the water
to the sound of the old piano,
We watch the jolly little fellows
vying to see who shouts the loudest
Hey, the piano,
You are playing out of tune
Never mind Bud, I don’t care
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
Tonight I’ll take you
to the bamboo hut
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
And, full of pep, we’ll be dancing
The trotting polka
With his wife, a kind policeman came home all jolly
When all of a sudden, fancy this?
Gunshots are heard.
It was the gentleman, the jolly ruffians
to show off their bravado off
walloping each other
and flashing some cold steel
Brave Bobby,
so lenient,
said to his wife quietly:
“Come doll,
Come doll, come.
Why disturb them?
It could upset them
Oh!
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
Don’t get all emotional
They can kill themselves without me.
Ah, an old wife and husband
all shaky
were marrying off their grandchildren.
After the ball, around midnight,
The good old lady said
to her wiped-out granddaughter
I’ll give you some advice
those we always give
to newlyweds,
But the jolly grandfather
Softly said,
Dear Old Nan
Leave these two children alone.
Come doll,
come doll, come.
The little rascals
do not need a lecture.
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
I am pretty sure
that they are wiser than you
A freshly appointed MP
invited his missus
to come and hear a great
speech
which he was delivering that same day.
But he had barely started
that they shouted “That’s enough”
Constitution, dissolution!
no arrest
flabbergasted
and dazed.
He took his hat and said
Come doll,
Come doll, come.
I don’t want to become deaf
For just 25 francs per day.
Come doll,
come doll, come.
As if it wasn’t bad enough
to be stuck with you.
Between the French lyrics 
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