There are, all along the streets of Provence, Who smell the morning, the sea and the noon, The scents of fennel, melons and celery, With here and there, a few dancing kids, Traveller of the night, me who laughs at them, And crosses the countries that I did not see, I can't wait, at the point of the day, to find on my feet, This wonderful world, Which laughs and interpels, The morning at the market. Here are for 100 francs, thyme, garic, a little saffron, And a kilo of figs, don't you want that? A nice plate of fish, or apricot, Here is the tarragon, and the beautiful shallot, The pretty fish of Marie Charlotte, don't you want that? A bouquet of almonds, or a few oysters, And on top of all that, We give you, we entice you, The accent that walks, And that does not end. But all along the markets of Florence, So many pretty girls, so many pretty girls, In the middle of the fennel, melons and celery, I have from time to time, a few dancing kids, Traveller of the night, me who laughs at them, And cross eyes that I did not see, I can't wait to find on my feet, These girls of the sun, Who laugh and call me, The morning at the market. Voici pour cent francs du thym de la garigue, Un peu de saffron, et un kilo de figs, Voulez-vous pas vrai? Un bon plateau de pêche, ou bien d'abricot, Voici l'estragon, et la belle échalote, Le joli poisson de la Marie Charlotte, Voulez-vous pas vrai? Un bouquet de lavande, ou bien quelques oyers, Et par-dessus tout ça, On vous donne en étraines, La sable qui se promène, Et qui n'en finit pas. A la bella puttina, A la bella puttina, Lei bello, lei vivo, Pei, pei, pei, A la bella puttina, Pei, pei, pei.