My Rosie read to me somet'ing, In pepper week ago. She say, “De States he want to fight On Canada and Joe;
An’ dat de Yankee Presidon, He write to Johnnie Bull, An’ tole him kip his nose at home, Or it would get one pull.”
An’ two three Yankee Senator, He mak’ one Yankee speech, An’ t'ink dat all de Canaya Will tremble in his breech —
He say to Honcle Sam, “Go up, An’ lick de hole dem crew — Go, tak’ Quebec an’ Hottawa, An’ Lac Megantic too.”
I jomp on top ma moccasin, An’ dance aroun’ de floor; I grine ma teet’, I pull ma hair, An’ den I jomp some more;
I say, “hurrah for Canada!” So loud as I can n't yell, Till Rosie say, “Ba gosh, hole man! You're crazy I can tell.”
“Oh I'm not crazy, Rosie, I am only patriot — Dat mean a man who never want His country go to pot —
Yes, I'm‘ hole man,’ but do n't you fret, I'm not yet invalid, I'm good for fight on any war As ten men when she's dead.
“I can n't fight? Me? Ba gosh you hask Ma honcle Polyeaux; He used to fight lak’ tiger On de war of Papineau;
You know I'm just the sam’ lak’ him, I'll do what he can done; An’ I can fight lak’ tiger, too, Dat Yankee son-of-gun.”
Ma Rosie say: “You crack hole man, Such tom fool speech to mak’, I t'ink you are most crazy man Dat live on top de lac —
Your boy is in de State, you know, An’ work in Yankee mill, An’ w'at you do he lose his job, His bread an’ greenback bill?”
“Baa, you mak’ mistak’, dear Rosie, If you t'ink we starve to dead; If we can n't get de Yankee work, His brown bean an’ his bread,
Grease pie, hot doughnut — biscuit, Is good t'ing for mak’ a dude; But we got somet'ing better here Den Yankee‘ speptic food.”
Ma peasoup am bully, boys, An’ buckwheat is good, You nevair get one better t'ing To work upon de hood;
W'en it get hold de handle axe, It mak’ de chip to fly T'ick as snowflak’ in de winter, Or mosquito on July.
Paul will come from Manchester, An’ Xavier from Lowhell; Joe will come from River Fall, Immediate — pell mell;
An’ every mill of Honcle Sam Will have to close de loom, W'en all our boys aroun’ de State Will come to fight at home.
O by de jomp up hooricane! If Yankee do n't stop brag; She'll fin’ more star on top his head, Den he got top his flag;
She'll fin’ one tiger on his track, Wit’ blood-shot on his eye, And ev'ry Yank dat cross de line For fight, is sure to die.
De Lac Megantic m'litia man Is sure to tak de lead, You bet your life w'en he get rouse Someboda got to bleed!
An’ w'en from Lac St. Francis Come de Greenland Grenadier He'll mak’ all Yankee man he meet Go home de top his bier.
De Horseman from La Patrie too, Will come an join de fray, An’ blow his tin horn bugle, On de top Canada gray;
De Voltigeurs from Weedon, An’ de Lampton Light Brigade, Will come an’ show to Jameson De way to mak a raid.
O’ we can fight dat Yankee man As fadders fought before! On battle of Chateaugay, W'en five Frenchman kill a score!
De Hinglish, Scotch, an’ Hirish, too, Will join us, do n't you fear — Dere's notting top dis earth can lick Canadian Volunteer!
An’ for one more good leader man, We'll send for Louis Cyr, An’ he'll tak’ charge de Chesham Corps An’ Ditton Fusileer;
De Hinfantry from Emberton Will join de Yankee hunt, And Peter Gagne's Cavalry Will gallop on de front!
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