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In my village, without pretention,
I have a bad reputation,
Whatever I do or what I do not,
I'm taken for -- I don't know what!
Yet I'm not hurting anyone
By going my own way.

But good people don't much like
Those who tread a different path,
No, good people don't much like
Those who take a different path,
Everyone speaks ill of me
Except the mutes, of course.

On the fourteenth of July,
I stay in my cozy bed.
All that marching music
Is nothing to do with me.
But I'm not doing anyone any harm,
By not listening to the sounding bugle.

But good people don't much like
Those who tread a different path,
No, good people don't much like
Those who take a different path,
Everyone points their finger at me
Except the no-armed, of course.

When I see an unlucky thief
Running away from some dirty farmer;
I kick out and, fair enough to say,
The farmer is flat on the ground
But I'm not hurting anyone,
By letting apple scrumpers go.

But good people don't much like
Those who tread a different path,
No, good people don't much like
Those who take a different path,
Everyone chases after me
Except the no-legged, of course

There's no need to be Jeremiah
To foretell what will happen to me,
If they find a rope they like
They will hang me properly,
Yet I'm not hurting anyone
By following roads that don't lead to Rome.

But good people don't much like
Those who tread a different path,
No, good people don't much like
Those who take a different path,
Everyone will come and see me hanged
Except the blind, of course!
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