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Homophonic translation of Antonin Artau’s: “Pour finir avec le jugement de dieu:”

They’re free . . . yay!
You can get parts that are official,
They’re blue. So sensational!
If it’s caused to bleed, I can get in.
Is it for someone? Is it paid?
For so what? By a cad? Poor guy.
You buy . . . could buy me?
This example, a poem, an old SUV,
All in all, funked, downed for a Pontiac
squat. What’d you call, Buick?
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