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Cent quinze sur la rue de Belleville dans ParisMarks the spot where I was not bornBut the myth persists because my life was chaoticA street corner-birth from an Italian whoreAnetta Giovani Millard, my motherWandered the bars and the fairgroundsShe had a fling with a circus performerThen left me with pap, who soon handed me downSometimes things get heavySometimes it's too muchNow in the care of a kind brothel MadameGrandma Gassion did the best that she couldThis upbringing had not made me sentimentalWhen a boy signalled a girl, I figured she shouldAt sixteen years old, I was a motherBy seventeen, I was on with my lifeWhen little Marcel died of meningitisI started singing because I could not cryLewis Leplais was the club ownerHe coaxed me on stage with a "la môme piaf"I was the rage, a heartbreaking beautyLetras de cancionesBut I broke for real when they found him deadAnd they had the nerve to consider me a suspectSometimes things get heavySometimes it's too muchStretch just a bit furtherSee how far I can goThis will be life to the fullestRich, 'cause I am the sparrowSome people think I was unsympatheticBecause in my notes I rarely spoke of the warPardonnez-moi, I was a little bit busySeeking out safety and lusting for moreMore, more, moreSometimes it's too muchMy list of men looked like a phonebookWhat can I say?It was tragic and funI had my last at fourty-sevenHe was twenty years fresherI like them youngNineteen-sixty-three I recorded my last songAiling, I was brought to the coastMy present love and a couple of othersReasoned with me as I feared I might roastOh mon Dieu!Sometimes things get heavySometimes it's too muchStretch just a bit furtherGuess this is my time to goPlease, won't you pray to Saint RitaTo take care of her sparrow? From Letras Mania