C'est la Guerre
After throwing his friends into fits, the Jumbler decides his Soldier-French won't go.
There are some folks, alas! I know
Who Fletcherize the calico
And pull out wads of hair
When now and then, as if by chance,
I lapse into the speech of France.
But—blame it on la guerre.
My accent's not Parisian, yet
It's tres bien, so said Lizette—
And surely she should know.
She never frowned and said non, non!
But she would smile and say, "Bon bon!"
Oui, oui, I get you, Bo!
Jolie Jeanne plays the Marseillaise!
I ball myself in many ways
When this I try to say.
But tres, merci, chere, and beaucoup
I say just like the Frenchies do—
Admit it, s'il vous plait.
Yet if each time I parlez vous
These friends must throw a fit or two
And shock their systems so,
I think I'll stick to plain Anglais
And say adieu to all Francais—
My Soldier-French won't go!
