You s'pose dey was let me come on dat house?
Not at all, for de boss he say,
"Phil-o-rum, it's long tam we don't see our fren',
can't get heem chance ev'ry day,
Please stop on canoe so she won't blow off,
w'ile we pass on de house an' see
Dem frien' we was lef' an' de girl we spark,
before we go strange contree."
An' me I was sit on canoe outside, jus' lak
I was sapré fou,
Watchin' dem feller dat's all dead man,
dance heem lak Loup Garou.
De boss he kiss Marie Louise, ma girl,
dat's way he spen' mos' de tam,
But of course she know not'ing of dat
biz-nesse—don't lak it me jus' de sam'.
By tam I'm commence it for feel de col',
dey're all comin' out encore,
An' we start off again t'roo de sky, hooraw!
for mak' de visite some more,
All de place on de parish we go dat night,
w'erever dey get some dance,
Till I feel it so tire, I could sleep right off,
but dey don't geev it me no chance.
De las' place w'ere passin' dat's Bill Boucher,
he's very good frien' of me,
An' I t'ink it's near tam I was lef' dat crowd,
so I'll snub de canoe on tree,
Den affer dead man he was safe inside, an'
ev'rywan start danser,
I go on de barn wat's behin' de house, for
see I can't hide away.
She's nice place de barn, an' got plaintee warm,
an' I'm feel very glad be dere,
So long dead feller don't fin' me out, an' ketch
it me on de hair,
But s'pose I get col', work him hard all night,
'cos I make it wan leetle cough,
W'en de rooster he's scare, holler t'ree, four tam,
an' whole t'ing she bus' right off.
I'll never see not'ing so quick again—Canoe an'
dead man go scat!
She's locky de rooster he mak' de noise, bus'
ev'ryt'ing up lak dat,
Or mebbe dem feller get me encore, an' tak' me
on Hodson Bay,
But it's all right now, for de morning's come,
an' he see me ole Bill Boucher.
I'm feel it so tire, an' sore all de place, wit'
all de hard work I do',
'Cos I'm not very use for mak' paddle, me, on beeg,
beeg phantome canoe,
But Bill an' hees boy dey was leef me up, an'
carry me on maison
W'ere plaintee nice t'ing dey was mak' me eat,
an' drink it some whiskey blanc.
An' now w'en I'm finish, w'at you t'ink it youse'f,
'bout story dat you was hear?
No wonner ma hair she is all turn w'ite before I
get eighty year!
But 'member dis t'ing, I be tole you firs, don't
los' it mes chers amis,
De man he can leev him on long, long tam, an'
not see it La Chasse Gal'rie!
* * * * *
He sit on de corner mos' every night, ole
Phil-o-rum Juneau,
Spik wit' hese'f, an' shak' de head, an' smoke
on de pipe also,
But kip very quiet, don't wak' him up, let him
stay on de kitchen wall,
For if you believe w'at de ole man say, you
believe anyt'ing at all.