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The meaning of the lyrics of the song "Mal Poli" by the artist "Yelle"

In the song "Mal Poli" ("Rude Boy"), French singer Yelle describes an unpleasant situation that many girls have probably faced. The lyrical heroine finds herself the object of unwanted attention from a rude and intrusive guy.

The lyrics of the song are filled with sarcasm and irony. The heroine ridicules the guy's behavior, his clumsy attempts to attract attention ("You spit, and your face is too close", "It's not nice to stare at my cleavage"). She emphasizes his lack of manners ("You are rude, I already told you not to address me informally"), his unwillingness to reckon with her feelings and personal space.

The phrase "Oh, Yelle!" is a kind of sigh of frustration. The singer, addressing herself, seems to emphasize the typicality of the situation: such "rude boys" are found at every turn, and each evening is similar to the previous one.

In the verse beginning with the words "All evenings repeat themselves", the heroine expands the picture, showing that the problem is not limited to one obsessive type. She criticizes the behavior of men who see women as "a jar of Nutella", easy prey. While "good guys" dance and behave with dignity, these "wasps" surround the girls, trying to get their way, not shying away from any methods. The image of "alcohol oozing from the pores" emphasizes the repulsive image.

In the final stanzas of the song, the heroine formulates her desire - to spend evenings in an atmosphere of respect and mutual courtesy, where men would "kneel", offering ladies drinks, and not harass them. She dreams of "guys like on posters", elegant and polite, and not a "bunch of drunk" boors.

The song "Mal Poli" is a kind of anthem of protest against disrespectful attitude towards women, a call for men to be more attentive and well-mannered.

Tu es mal poli, je t'avais dit de ne pas me tutoyer

Nous n'avons rien gardé ensemble et ne payons pas le même loyer

Tu postillonnes et ton visage est trop près

Ton haleine me saoule, j'ai bien envie de te faire tomber

Ça n'est pas joli, de fixer mon décolleté

Regarde plutôt mes fesses au moins je verrais pas que je me fais mater

Ça ne m'étonne pas que tu sois seul

Si tu continues comme ça j'appelle mes hommes pour qu'ils t'assomment

Oh Yelle!

Les soirées se répètent et se ressemblent quoi

Si ce n'est pas un mec c'est deux ou trois

Qui te collent comme des guêpes sur un pot de Nutella

Quand les bons sont sur le dancefloor ceux-là sont pour toi

Mais il sent fort, l'alcool sort de ses pores

Tu sais que dans une heure tu le retrouves devant la porte

Avec ses potes en train de la calmer

Et tous sont là à faire comme s'ils étaient armés

J'aimerais enfin passer une soirée sans ces relous

Les filles sont belles, les mecs se mettraient à genoux

Pour leur offrir un verre, faire monter les enchères

Celui qui gagnerait la danse aurait de quoi être fier

Tous les garçons en costard, élégants et polis

Comme ceux qui sont en poster, au dessus de ton lit

Depuis des années, qu'on te fait rêver

La seule chose que tu vois est une brochette de mecs bourrés

Tu es mal poli

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