This is a protest song from the singer-songwriter Renaus Sechan.
The original was released in 1975. But this version is sung by Nicola Sirkis, the singer of the French Rock group Indochine.
A sarcastic and virulent critique of the French people, it was banned from public radio. It explores events that the French celebrate each month of the year:
January: people kiss each other as they wish each other a happy New Year. Yet, France has not changed much for decades.
February: In 1962, a group of protesters against the war in Algeria were killed by the police at the metro station Charonne. The protest had been organised by the Communist Party and other left-wing political parties. This is an anti-establishment and anti-police stance, portraying the force as government assassins against the everyday man.
“Et les vieilles traditions débiles / Ils font pitié ces imbéciles” “With their old traditions, I feel pity for those morons”
March: in March 1974, a Catalan arnarchist was exectuted in Spain (the other side of the Pyrenées) As Spain was still ruled by Franco. Renaud talks about the French being shocked about this, yet they forget that the death penalty was abolished in 1978 and 1981 in France (Ils oublient que la guillotine fonctionne encore / They forget that the guillotine is still in use)
April: The TV and newspaper remind people of old-traditions and idioms from the 16th Century such as being mindful of the weather as, despite Spring being here, the weather can remain cold. This is an anti-traditionalist stance and reminds people to make their own opinions rather than follow traditions.
Mai: there were to main uprisings in France to be celebrated: The Commune of Paris in 1871 (communist) and May 1968 (anarchists and lefties) Although both were significant events and changed the French mentality in the long run, they were seen as failed revolutions. In particular, May 1968, where the protests were against the government and establishment, yet De Gaulle was re-elected. (Effrayés par la liberté /S’en allant voter par millions / Pour l’ordre et la sécurité or Afraid of freedom / millions went to vote / for law and order)
June: D-day is celebrated by the very same people who condoned the Vichy Regime. It portrays people who feel gratitude and sadness for the American soldiers who came to die for their freedom, yet when they were spared bombing during the German Occupation of France, the same people were saying “Long Live Marechal Petain”
July: 14th of July is the French national day or Bastille Day. It celebrates the French Revolution in 1789 and the abolition of the monarchy. Yet, Renaud cannot so much difference between the widespread misery and exploitation of the common man then and now.
August: Traditionally, the French take their paid annual leave in August. Criticising the French for the mass tourism, polluting beaches and spoiling the scenery in Spain, Greece and France.
September: The French government officially recognised the Pinochet regime after the coup in Chile to maintain diplomatic channels, yet they facilitated the asylum of thousands of Chilean refugees at the French embassy in Santiago. Renaud criticises the French public for acting outraged and “crying” over the fall of Salvador Allende in Chile, while remaining politically passive or indifferent to social injustices and “little dictators” happening right at home in France.
“Un ambassadeur se ramène / Bras ouverts il est accueilli / Le fascisme c’est la gangrène / À Santiago comme à Paris.” “An ambassador comes round / he is welcomed with open arms / Fascism is like sepsis in Santiago as well as in Paris”
October: the grape-picking season for wine-making is now over. He criticises the French for being proud of their wine and cheese productions, selling the product all over the world whilst being blissfully ignorant of the political and social issues that (as he sees it) should bring shame to the French public.
“Leur pinard et leur camembert / C’est leur seule gloire à ces tarés” “Their plonk and their camembert is the only glory of those retards”
November: the car show in Paris is a major event of the year. Here, Renaud denounces the French for giving in to stardust: getting excited by the latest expensive French car they could never afford, numbing their minds with entertainment on TV or dreaming of making it big by winning the lottery.
”La bagnole, la télé, l’tiercé / C’est l’opium du peuple de France” translates as: The bangers, the telly and the lottery is the opium of the French
December: Christmas and New Year are here again, yet nothing has changed.
“Ils sont toujours aussi moroses / Mais y a d’la joie dans les ghettos / La Terre peut s’arrêter d’tourner / Ils rat’ront pas leur réveillon” “They are still as gloomy / but you’ll find joy in the ghettos / Even if the world stopped spinning / they are not going to miss the Christmas and New Year celebrations”
Ils s’embrassent au mois de Janvier
Car une nouvelle année commence
Mais depuis des éternités
L’a pas tell’ment changé la
France
Passent les jours et les semaines
Y a qu’le décor qui évolue
La mentalité est la même
Tous des tocards, tous des
faux culs
Ils sont pas lourds, en février
À se souvenir de Charonne
Des matraqueurs assermentés
Qui fignolèrent leur besogne
La France est un pays de flics
À tous les coins d’rue y’en a 100
Pour faire règner l’ordre public
Ils assassinent impunément
Quand on exécute au mois d’mars
De l’autr’ côté des Pyrénées
Un arnachiste du
pays basque
Pour lui apprendre à
s’révolter
Ils crient, ils pleurent et ils s’indignent
De cette immonde mise à mort
Mais ils oublient qu’la guillotine
Chez nous aussi
fonctionne encore
Etre né sous l’signe de
l’hexagone
C’est pas c’qu’on fait d’mieux en c’moment
Et le roi des cons, sur son trône
J’parierai pas qu’il est all’mand
On leur a dit, au mois d’avril
À la télé, dans les journaux
De pas se découvrir
d’un fil
Que l’printemps c’était pour bientôt
Les vieux principes du seizième siècle
Et les vieilles traditions débiles
Ils les appliquent tous à la lettre
Y m’font pitié ces imbéciles
Ils se souviennent, au mois de mai
D’un sang qui coula rouge et noir
D’une révolution manquée
Qui faillit renverser l’Histoire
J’me souviens surtout d’ces moutons
Effrayés par la Liberté
S’en allant voter par millions
Pour l’ordre et la sécurité
Ils commémorent au mois de juin
Un débarquement d’Normandie
Ils pensent au brave soldat ricain
Qu’est v’nu se faire tuer
loin d’chez lui
Ils oublient qu’à l’abri des
bombes
Les Francais criaient,
‘Vive Pétain’
Qu’ils étaient bien planqués à Londres
Qu’y avait pas beaucoup d’
Jean Moulin
Etre né sous l’signe de l’
hexagone
C’est pas la gloire, en vérité
Et le roi des cons, sur son trône
Me dites pas qu’il est portugais
Ils font la fête au mois d’juillet
En souv’nir d’une révolution
Qui n’a jamais éliminé
La misère et l’exploitation
Ils s’abreuvent de bals populaires
D’feux d’artifice et de flonflons
Ils pensent oublier dans la bière
Qu’ils sont gouvernés comme des pions
Au mois d’août c’est la
liberté
Après une longue année d’usine
Ils crient,
“Vive les congés payés”
Ils oublient un peu la
machine
En Espagne, en Grèce ou en France
Ils vont polluer toutes les
plages
Et par leur unique présence
Abîmer tous les paysages
Lorsqu’en septembre on
assassine
Un peuple et une liberté
Au cœur de l’Amérique latine
Ils sont pas nombreux à gueuler
Un ambassadeur se ramène
Bras ouverts il est accueilli
Le fascisme c’est la gangrène
À Santiago comme à Paris
Etre né sous l’signe de l’
hexagone
C’est vraiment pas une sinécure
Et le roi des cons, sur son
trône
Il est français, ça j’en suis sûr
Finies les vendanges en Octobre
Le raisin fermente en tonneaux
Ils sont très fiers de leurs vignobles
Leurs, ‘Côtes-du-Rhône’, et leurs, ‘Bordeaux’
Ils exportent le sang de la terre
Un peu partout à l’étranger
Leur pinard et leur camenbert
C’est leur seule gloire à ces tarrés
En Novembre, au salon d’l’auto
Ils vont admirer par milliers
L’dernier modèle de chez Peugeot
Qu’ils pourront jamais
se payer
La bagnole, la télé, l’tiercé
C’est l’opium du
peuple de France
Lui supprimer c’est
le tuer
C’est une drogue à accoutumance
En décembre c’est l’apothéose
La grande bouffe et les p’tits cadeaux
Ils sont toujours aussi moroses
Mais y a d’la joie dans les
ghettos
La Terre peut s’arrêter d’tourner
Ils rat’ront pas leur
réveillon
Moi j’voudrais tous les voir
crever
Étouffé de dinde aux
marrons
Etre né sous l’signe de l’
hexagone
On peut pas dire qu’ca soit bandant
Si l’roi des cons perdait son trône
Y aurait 50 millions de prétendants
They kiss each other in
January
just because a new year
is beginning
But it’s been an eternity
That not much has changed in France.
Weeks after days,
Only the scenery evolves.
The mentality is the same.
All losers, all
full of shit
There are not many in February
To remember Charonne.
Licenced head-crackers
who perfected their handywork
France is a country of pigs
There are 100’s of them at each street corner
to protect Public Order,
They murder with impunity.
When in March, they execute
on the other side of the Pyrenees,
an anarchist from the
Basque Country
to teach him a lesson after he rebelled
They shout, they cry, and they
are indignant
about this hideous slaughter
But they forget that the guillotine
In our country too,
is still in use.
To be born under the sign of the hexagon.
Is not exactly our best luck
right now
and the king of idiots on his throne
I won’t bet he’s German
They were told on the telly and in the newspapers that in April
They should not remove a single thread of clothing
That spring was coming
soon
The old principles of the 16th century
and the idiotic old traditions
They follow them to the letter
I feel sorry for these morons
In May, they remember
blood that poured red and black
from a failed revolution
which almost reversed history.
I especially remember these
sheep
frightened by freedom
going to vote by the millions
for law and order
In June, they commemorate
D-Day in Normandy
They think of the brave Yankee
who came to be killed so
far away from home.
They forget that safe from the bombs
The French shouted
Long live Pétain!
that, spared from the bombings in
London
There were only a few
Jean Moulin
To be born under the sign of the hexagon.
is hardly a glorious sight
and the king of idiots on his throne
Don’t tell me that he’s Portuguese
In July, they celebrate
the memory of a revolution
which never really put an end
to misery and exploitation
They drink at the village hop
firework and oom-pa-pa
They think the ale can make them forget
That they are governed like
pawns.
In August, it is the month of freedom.
After a long year at the factory,
they shout
“viva the paid vacations.”
They forget a little about the machine
In Spain, Greece and
France.
They flock to and pollute all the beaches
just by their mere presence
blighting the whole countryside
When in September, they murdered
a land and freedom
in the heart of Latin America,
Not many of them are revolting.
A diplomat is brought back
and is welcomed with open arms
Fascism is the sepsis
of Santiago and Paris.
To be born under the sign of the hexagon.
is no walk in the park
And the king of idiots on his throne.
He is French, that I’m sure.
Come October, the harvest is done
The grape ferments in the barrels.
They are so proud of their vineyards,
their Côtes du Rhône and their Bordeaux.
They export blood from the earth
all over the world.
Their plonk and their camembert,
It’s their glory to those retards.
In November, at the car show,
They will go by the thousands to admire
the latest models from Peugeot
that they will never be able to afford.
The car, the telly, the lottery,
It is the opium of the
French people.
Banning them would be
killing them.
It is an addictive drug
In December, it is the grand finale
The great pig out and the little
gifts
and they are just as miserable
But there is plenty of joy in the ghettos
The world can collapse
But they won’t miss out on their Christmas parties
I would like to see them all
kick the bucket
choking on their turkey and chestnuts
Being born under the sign of the hexagon
You can’t say it gives you
a hard-on
If the king of idiots lost his throne,
There would be 60 million heirs to the throne. Oh.
Between the French lyrics 
Leave a comment