Hunting the Wily Pole Cat
(As told by a French-Canadian).
I’m hunt de bear, I’m hunt de rat
Sometimes I’m hunt de cat;
Las week I’m tak ma ax an go
To hunt de skunk pole cat.
Ma fren Bill says hees ver good fur,
Same time good for eat,
So I tell ma wife, “I get fur coat
Same time get some meat.”
I walk, one, two, three, four mile.
I feel one awful smell—
I theenk that skunk hees gone and died
And fur coat’s gone to hal.
Bime-by I get up ver ver close,
I raise ma ax up high—
Dat gaddum skunk he up and plunk,
Trow something in ma eye.
Sacre blu; I tink ahm blin—
Gee Cri! Ah cannot see,
Ah run aroun and roun and roun
Till bump in gaddum tree.
Bime-bye I drop de ax
An light out for de shack
I tink about a milyun skunk
Hees climb upon ma back.
Ma wife she meet me at de door,
She sick on me de dog,
She say, “You no sleep here tonight,
Go out and sleep wit hog.”
I try to get in hog pen,
Gee Cri, now what you tink,
Dat gaddum hog no stan for dat
On count of awful stink.
So I no hunt de skunk no more
To get hees fur and meat;
For if hees breath he smell so bad,
Gee Cri! what if he speet.
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