Les Cowboys fringants - L'hiver approche (English translation)
Get ready for a rough ride, honey,
winter will be tough this year.
The days of plenty are over,
we're having misery for dinner.
I have to get snow tires fitted
to my old rusty crate.
With gas getting more expensive by the day
they know they hold us by the balls.
I'm stuck in the traffic every morning
together with millions of human beings
fighting over a bit of highway
without thinking too much of where it's headed,
all alone in their cars,
humming FM tunes
all just as aware as I am how tough life is
but you got to keep on playing.
A truck accident on the Mercier bridge, it's a bumber to bumper crawl.
Code red on the subway. Jammed solid every day.
A guy gets cut in and honks the horn, shaking his fist
like a caged lion, stuck in the traffic jams.
Come on, law abiding citizens dreaming of beaches and vacation resorts
in the middle of the Canadian winter. Your job is the only cure.
You'd better watch out though, burn out is on the prowl.
You're working, old chum, and your life flashes past under your nose.
Money gets the whole planet going.
Looks like it's pretty serious
since in the higher-ups world
losers don't really belong.
They simply chuck
night and day
their rubbish advertising at us.
They are never out of bullshit to sell.
In the shopping mall parking lots
the war rages on yet again.
Cars a mile around
and packet shops.
Santa just showed up,
yey we're not even past mid-November.
Sweet Jesus must feel depressed,
the merchants have come back to the temple.
Pay later, buy now.
Credit or cash.
Visa, American Express.
I even cash bullshit checks.
I am the junk dealer,
the cheap dreams seller.
American Dream incarnate.
Fun does come cheap,
come on, step into the dance.
Buy a nice car on credit.
No interest for a year.
Put your ass on heated seats.
Your bland lives will be changed
by my neatly packaged illusions.
Now if you're not happy
there is no refund here.
I loan my life to an employer
with working days and sweat drops.
To think we're all whoring
to buy some nice cushions
and realize yet another new trinket
doesn't put joy into your heart.
Because happiness can't be bought
in a cardboard box anyway.
And yet in front of my beer glass
my throat is a parched earth.
I'd gladly have a pick-me-up
to wash away my bad weather,
buy as always I don't have a penny in my pocket,
even now that winter is coming.
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