Permis de…

Permis de  ne pas conduire                                                                                                          

Et de chercher des perdrix                                                                                                         

 Dans le paysage où ma perte                                                                                                         

De poids m’inscrit moins fort.                                                                                                         

 Le temps passe pour le Gaulois                                                                                                                          

Qui n’accepte le progrès                                                                                                           

Que s’il l’arrange.                                                                                                                                                  

Il se plaigne du prix de l’essence                                                                                                                          

Alors qu’il achète du Netflix,                                                                                                                            

De l’Amazon sans problème.                                                                                                                                  

Permis de ne pas entendre                                                                                                                                         

Les bêtises ; n’existe pas… malheureusement