It was a kid, a rascal of Paris,
It was a kid, a rascal of Paris,
For family it had his mother qu '
A poor ox-eyed girl reddened,
By grief and misery
She liked flowers, roses especially,
And the dear kid every Sunday
He brought nice pink half notes,
Instead of buying playthings
Fondling it very tenderly,
He said by giving them to him:
' It is today on Sunday, yours my pretty mum
Here are pink half notes, you who likes them so much
Go when I shall be big, I shall buy from the trader
All her pink half notes, for you pretty mum '
Last spring, violent destiny,
The working fair-haired woman came to knock
It felt sick and for the hospital,
The kid saw leaving his mother
A morning of April among the walkers
Having no more one under in its pocket
On a very trembling market the poor kid,
Furtively steals flowers
The trader having surprised it,
By lowering the head, he says to him:
' It is today on Sunday and I was going to see mum
I took these pink half notes she likes them so much
On her small white bed, over there it waits for me
I took these pink half notes, for my pretty mum '
The trader full of emotion, slowly says him,
' Take them I give them to you '
It embraced it and the child left,
Very radiant that they excuse it
Then to the hospital it came by running,
To give flowers to his mother
But by seeing it, a nurse,
Any bottom says to him ' You do not have mum anymore '
And the kid kneeling said,
In front of the small white bed:
' It is today on Sunday, yours my pretty mum
Here are pink half notes, you who likes them so much
And when you will leave, in the big garden over there
All these pink half notes, you will take them '
