LYRICS TRANSLATION INTO ENGLISH:
On My Island; Observations of an Expat 

Brazil — I don’t know it at all,
Turkey — I don’t hang around much there...
Italy — seems there are good guys there,
As to France — I left this country against my will
South Africa, such a mess without Mandela,
England — no misery..never get bored with it
Mr. Trump, USA, Drowned in media hate every day.
What about me, what about me, what about me — what am I doin’ in all this mess?
On my island, far away — what are we doin’ in all this mess?


Some say “There’s nothin’ we can do,”
Some say “We need a war or two,”
Some try helpin’ through aid and care,
Others hide in their cottage lairs.
Me? I’m snackin’ on camembert,
Sausage, Sancerre, and aperitifs to spare.
On my island, lush and wild — rainy, rocky, soft and mild,
I am wondering what I’m doin’ in all this
Yeah, I am wondering what the hell we’re doin’ in all this.
What are we doin’ in all this?
What the hell are we doin’ in all this?



On my island, far from the fray,
On my island, where the media fades away,
On my island, I’m easy, I’m chill,
On my island, I found refuge on a rocky hill.
On my island, so far from it all,
On my island, no shady deals, no calls.
On my island, I’m quiet, I’m docile,
In Marie-Cécile’s arms — I slip in with no shame.


The media would like to make you believe
That one has to pit oysters, 
That one has to coat himself in Viagra to better appreciate French fries and mussels!
That flies in Guinea are fartin’ up a storm, That they’ll pollute it all!
That one has to rub one’s butt on the floor to make one’s hair grow back like a magic craft!"


On my island, far from all that trash,
On my island, no media backlash,
On my island, I’m chill, away from all these fools,
On my island, we exile on a refuge rock…


But what am I doin’ in all this mess?
What the hell are we doin’ in all this? On my island…
What am I doin’ in all this noise?
What the hell can we do about all this? On my island…
What am I doin’ in all this?
What are we doin’ in all this?
I keep wonderin’ what I’m doin’ in all this
What can we do in all this?


 (Spoken - Note: The very beginning refers to the actual French anthem)


“Arise, children of the land,” they said —
But those glory days are dead.
Tyranny now walks in disguise,
Hidden deep beneath the lies.
No heads will roll, not one will fall,
It’s all done at night behind the voting hall.
The guillotines are tucked away,
They’re scared as hell about them, every single day.
Well me… I could not care less,
When I get bored I braid my leg hair and this is it
When the time will come
Some heads might roll down the floor
But don’t tell Ginette — she can’t take that blow.
She hates when my songs stir up the crowd,
When I speak out just a little too loud…

Ginette’s voice (Laurent’s actual wife actually):
“But what are you doin’ in all this?
What the hell are you doin’ in all this?”
Laurent:
“Oh, Ginette doesn’t like that vibe...”
“But what are you doin’ in all this?
What the hell are you doin’ in all this?”
Laurent:
“Go on Ginette, go all in —
I’m slippin’ away… on my island again…
Wasn’t me, blame Raymond (Raymond devos – Deceased famous French comic) he said it’s time…Time to cut heads... Just not mine!”

L'expatrié

Dans mon île; observations d'un expatrié

Dans mon île ; Observations d'un expatrié

My recall of many of my visits to Cap Town where I used to busk with my South African Township friends...Many are mentionned in this song...Sorry in French my native language...easier for me

Ma visite au Cap

A funny French lyrics track about Covid lockdown

Translation into English:

I Lock Myself In
Bonus, malus, virus chase,
Rum baba and smart card grace.
In the gaps, it slips right in,
Pulling its tricks from deep within.
It’s the sneaky little beast
Full of vices, to say the least...
I lock myself in.

Eight o’clock, I’m out of bed,
Coffee brewed to clear my head,
A dash of milk to top it off,
Dip my bread in — soft and rough.
Nothing like it to recharge the pack,
Butter on toast, no turning back,
Right in the kitchen...

I lock myself in.
No more subway, work, and sleep,
I spend my days in Zoom so deep.
Online now, we do it all,
Five steps away, my office calls,
And just a few more to the fridge —
Oh dear, we’re growing round the edge...
It’s madness when you’re locked within.

Let’s lock ourselves with our sweethearts near,
Each morning I take the trash out clear,
The dish towel gives me an excuse
To dive hands-first into the juice —
Zucchini, stews, the meat all done,
Let’s show them we don’t come undone,
And maybe earn a little kiss,
Or something more — now wouldn’t that be bliss?

Video drinks, our new soirée,
Every Saturday we toast away.
Gotta find some fun, some flair
In times that feel so far from fair.
Snacks, Kir, never water — no!
Only ice cubes in my Pineau (French alcohol).
We’ve built our anti-viral stash,
We’ve got a whole defense to flash
When we lock ourselves in...

J'me confine

Inspiration came in Cape Town with this track...While busking in the streets with my musicians friends...

Laurent's Jungle

Something that came up on a friday evening after work!

Petite impro du vendredi soir

For those who like the French accent...A collaboration between two French guys, Laurent Touchab on guitars (solo and struming) and JC Biche on singing on one of JC Biche's song, reworked and recorded by Laurent Touchab

This Is Love

Inspiration from many years ago...Makes me think of Morroco

This track is not available anymore.

Other tracks from Laurent Touchab