An' affer dat, we eat some t'ing, tak' leetle drink also
An' de Curé, he's tole story of many year ago—
W'en Iroquois sauvage she's keel de Canayens an' steal deir hair,
An' say dat's only for Bon Dieu, we don't be here—he don't be dere.
But dat was mak' de girl feel scare—so all de cavalier
Was ax hees girl go home right off, an' place her on de sleigh,
An' w'en dey start, de Curé say, "Bonsoir et bon voyage
Menagez-vous—tak' care for you—prenez-garde pour les sauvages."
An' den I go meseff also, an' tak' ma belle Elmire—
She's nicer girl on whole Comté, an' jus' got eighteen year—
Black hair—black eye, an' chick rosée dat's lak wan fameuse on de fall
But don't spik much—not of dat kin', I can't say she love me at all.
Ma girl—she's fader beeg farmeur—leev 'noder side St. Flore
Got five-six honder acre—mebbe a leetle more—
Nice sugar bush—une belle maison—de bes' I never see—
So w'en I go for spark Elmire, I don't be mak' de foolish me—
Elmire!—she's pass t'ree year on school—Ste. Anne de la Perade
An' w'en she's tak' de firs' class prize, dat's mak' de ole man glad;
He say "Ba gosh—ma girl can wash—can keep de kitchen clean
Den change her dress—mak' politesse before God save de Queen."
Dey's many way for spark de girl, an' you know dat of course,
Some way dey might be better way, an' some dey might be worse
But I lak' sit some cole night wit' my girl on ole burleau
Wit' lot of hay keep our foot warm—an' plaintee buffalo—
Dat's geev good chances get acquaint—an' if burleau upset
An' t'row you out upon de snow—dat's better chances yet—
An' if you help de girl go home, if horse he ronne away
De girl she's not much use at all—don't geev you nice baiser!
Dat's very well for fun ma frien', but w'en you spark for keep
She's not sam t'ing an' mak' you feel so scare lak' leetle sheep
Some tam you get de fever—some tam you're lak snowball
An' all de tam you ack lak' fou—can't spik no t'ing at all.
Wall! dat's de way I feel meseff, wit Elmire on burleau,
Jus' lak' small dog try ketch hees tail—roun' roun' ma head she go
But bimeby I come more brave—an' tak' Elmire she's han'
"Laisse-moi tranquille" Elmire she say "You mus' be crazy man."
"Yass—yass," I say, "mebbe you t'ink I'm wan beeg loup garou,
Dat's forty t'ousand 'noder girl, I lef' dem all for you,
I s'pose you know Polique Gauthier your frien'on St. Cesaire
I ax her marry me nex' wick—she tak' me—I don't care."