Noches de Montmartre
Muñequita de lujo, labios pintados,
silueta dibujada con gran chique.
Viva tu madre ahijuna, parla italiano,
Montmartre es luz, es coctel, torre Babel.
Abismo del otario, puerto del vivo,
vidriera de los vicios sin mostrador,
donde se cambia el oro por las mentiras,
y se compra al contado el falso amor.
Montmartre, Place Pigalle a medianoche,
Montmartre, cortesana en regio coche.
Los besos... del champan la ultima copa
la beberas en la boca, perfumada, de la mujer de Paris.
Jazz bands y balalaikas, y bandoneones,
mil besos, mil mujeres, el carnaval
del mundo todo el año, corsos, pasiones
desata aqui en Montmartre, su bacanal.
En tanto que en la oscura calle desierta,
recostada en la puerta de algun bistrot,
Mimi con hambre y frio, recuerda el viejo,
romantico Montmartre que ayer paso.
Montmartre, Place Pigalle a medianoche,
Montmartre, cortesana en regio coche.
Los besos, el champan, la ultima copa
la beberas en la boca, perfumada, de la mujer de Paris.
Nights of Montmartre
Luxury doll, painted lips,
Silhouette drawn with great chic.
Long live your mother, goddaughter, speak Italian,
Montmartre is light, cocktail, Tower of Babel.
Abyss of the fool, port of the cunning,
Showcase of vices without a counter,
Where gold is exchanged for lies,
And false love is bought in cash.
Montmartre, Place Pigalle at midnight,
Montmartre, courtesan in a grand carriage.
Kisses... the last sip of champagne
You will drink in the perfumed mouth of the woman from Paris.
Jazz bands and balalaikas, and bandoneons,
A thousand kisses, a thousand women, the carnival
Of the world all year round, parades, passions
Unleashes its revelry here in Montmartre.
While in the dark deserted street,
Leaning against the door of a bistro,
Mimi with hunger and cold, remembers the old,
Romantic Montmartre that passed by yesterday.
Montmartre, Place Pigalle at midnight,
Montmartre, courtesan in a grand carriage.
Kisses, champagne, the last sip
You will drink in the perfumed mouth of the woman from Paris.
Escrita por: Manuel Pizarro