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My friend the gypsy, he's a curious guy
A completely black face, all blue tiles
He goes for hours without saying a single word
Sitting near the stove at the back of the bistro
br/>This guy has a caravan wandering around in his head
And when he travels he never stops
Lots of landscapes come out of his eyes
My friend the gypsy is a curious guy
My friend the gypsy, he's not funny
And in our bistro no one understands him
Like all these guys, he has his guitar
A filthy guitar that turns you black
When he starts to play, the old caravan
Glopes in his head, the belote players
Stop and nothing more... it hurts inside
My friend the gypsy is not funny
My friend the gypsy left one day
And God only knows where he spends his life
This guy was a great musician
I was sure of that, I felt it well
The sheet metal worker told me that we came to get him
A big music hall wanted to buy him
My friend the gypsy refused
A shrug and he cut himself
I had the impression of losing a friend
And yet this guy doesn't never said anything to me
But he left me a corner of his caravan
And in my little head I have dreams running around
His funny music, stayed in me
When I think of him, I sometimes sing
You sacred gypsy who smelled of cockroaches
Deep down your music was full of hope