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Song Parodies -> "L'Adresse du Général Putain"
Original Song Title:
"General Patton's Speech"
Original Performer:
George C Scott
Parody Song Title:
"L'Adresse du Général Putain"
Parody Written by:
Patrick McWilliams
The Lyrics
A stage in a large auditorium. A giant tricolor flag, blue, white, and red vertical stripes. General Putain appears, wearing a jaunty beret and a chest full of ribbons. He has a baguette of French bread in his left holster and a bottle of wine in his right. A band strikes up "Auprès de ma blonde". The general strides to the center of the stage.
Asseyez-vous!
The first thing I want you to remember is that no Frenchman ever won a war. Oh, there was this French girl who tried, long ago, and you remember what happened to her.
Messieurs, this stuff you have read about the Maginot Line, about our tanks and artillery and preparedness is a lot of excrément de cheval. Heck, if Luxembourg declared war on us tomorrow, we'd roll over faster than a five franc whore in Montmartre.
When you were boys you admired the romantic poets, the impressionist painters, the daintiest pastry chefs. Americans look up to the heavyweight boxers. The French honor Jerrry Lewis. That is why France has never won and will never win a war. I'm not sure there is even a word for "victory" in the French language.
An army is a team. It thinks, trains, works, fights as a team. You call yourself an army? I don't either. That "all for one and one for all" nonsense belongs in an old Alexander Dumas novel.
As you are no doubt well aware, we have the finest cuisine, the best wine and cheese, the most stylish fashions in the world. Do you want to give that up to eat cold beans in a muddy trench? Or would you rather be fornicating?
You know, I almost pity those Foreign Legionnaires we pay to do our fighting for us. Or the Americans who come here to save our derrières. Well, not really.
Some of you are asking, "Could I really pull the trigger? Could I shoot some Nazi bastard who is invading my country?" I can assure you, when the time comes, you will do as you have been trained. When you see those Panzer tanks rolling down the Champs Elysées, you'll know what to do. (raises both hands high over his head)
The Boches are the enemy-- and they are some bad meaux-feaux. Surrender to them. Collaborate. Pimp them your sister.
Another thing, I don't want to get any messages. I'll be at my headquarters getting massages and I don't wish to be disturbed.
Furthermore, I don't want to hear any reports saying "We are holding our positions". Let the Hun do that. The Germans have always held French territory better than we have.
There is one more thing for which you can be truly grateful. Assuming you have managed to escape before we are completely occupied. Thirty years from now, when you are seated on your sofa and your petit-fils asks you "Papi, que-est-ce que t'as fait dans la grande guerre mondiale?" you'll be able to answer him, "I was one of the lucky ones, I spent the war shoveling merde in la Louisiane.
Well, you salauds, you know how I feel. Now, I will be pleased to march us all into a nice, safe prisoner of war camp for the duration.
A bientot.
The first thing I want you to remember is that no Frenchman ever won a war. Oh, there was this French girl who tried, long ago, and you remember what happened to her.
Messieurs, this stuff you have read about the Maginot Line, about our tanks and artillery and preparedness is a lot of excrément de cheval. Heck, if Luxembourg declared war on us tomorrow, we'd roll over faster than a five franc whore in Montmartre.
When you were boys you admired the romantic poets, the impressionist painters, the daintiest pastry chefs. Americans look up to the heavyweight boxers. The French honor Jerrry Lewis. That is why France has never won and will never win a war. I'm not sure there is even a word for "victory" in the French language.
An army is a team. It thinks, trains, works, fights as a team. You call yourself an army? I don't either. That "all for one and one for all" nonsense belongs in an old Alexander Dumas novel.
As you are no doubt well aware, we have the finest cuisine, the best wine and cheese, the most stylish fashions in the world. Do you want to give that up to eat cold beans in a muddy trench? Or would you rather be fornicating?
You know, I almost pity those Foreign Legionnaires we pay to do our fighting for us. Or the Americans who come here to save our derrières. Well, not really.
Some of you are asking, "Could I really pull the trigger? Could I shoot some Nazi bastard who is invading my country?" I can assure you, when the time comes, you will do as you have been trained. When you see those Panzer tanks rolling down the Champs Elysées, you'll know what to do. (raises both hands high over his head)
The Boches are the enemy-- and they are some bad meaux-feaux. Surrender to them. Collaborate. Pimp them your sister.
Another thing, I don't want to get any messages. I'll be at my headquarters getting massages and I don't wish to be disturbed.
Furthermore, I don't want to hear any reports saying "We are holding our positions". Let the Hun do that. The Germans have always held French territory better than we have.
There is one more thing for which you can be truly grateful. Assuming you have managed to escape before we are completely occupied. Thirty years from now, when you are seated on your sofa and your petit-fils asks you "Papi, que-est-ce que t'as fait dans la grande guerre mondiale?" you'll be able to answer him, "I was one of the lucky ones, I spent the war shoveling merde in la Louisiane.
Well, you salauds, you know how I feel. Now, I will be pleased to march us all into a nice, safe prisoner of war camp for the duration.
A bientot.
Stage note: As the speech proceeds, the red and blue stripes diminish gradually, until at the end, the flag is entirely white.
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Pattontly preposterous, diabolically conceived and brilliantly lexecuted! You, sir are one baaaad sass meaux'r-feaux'r!
Patrick - Incredible! Ironically, Patton spoke fluent French and was something of a Francophile. I once could do the entire original speech from memory verbatim. After a noble effort like this, you won't have have to tell your grandson that, during the glorious heyday of amiright, you authored poo parodies in Louisiana! (Trumpets playing a voluntary of triplet figures in the eerie distance.) ;D
My nephew, Ryan, was in the Navy. Just after Hurricane Katrina, his ship pulled into New Orleans to assist in some of the clean up effort. He really did get to shovel sh.. in Louisiana. After thinking about it, I should have had the grandson ask his question in German.
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