On wan dark night on Lac St.
Pierre, De win' she blow, blow, blow, An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante" Got scar't an' run below— For de win' she blow lak hurricane, Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St.
Pierre Wan arpent from de shore. De captinne walk on de fronte deck, An' walk de hin' deck too— He call de crew from up de hole, He call de cook also. De cook she 's name was Rosie, She come from Montreal, Was chambre maid on lumber barge, On de Grande Lachine Canal. De win' she blow from nor' -eas' -wes',— De sout' win' she blow too, W'en Rosie cry, "Mon cher captinne, Mon cher, w'at I shall do ?" Den de captinne t'row de beeg ankerre, But still de scow she dreef, De crew he can't pass on de shore, Becos' he los' hees skeef. De night was dark lak wan black cat, De wave run high an' fas', W'en de captinne tak' de Rosie girl An' tie her to de mas'. Den he also tak' de life preserve, An' jomp off on de lak', An' say, "Good-bye, ma Rosie dear, I go drown for your sak'." Nex' morning very early 'Bout ha'f-pas' two—t'ree—four— De captinne—scow—an' de poor Rosie Was corpses on de shore, For de win' she blow lak hurricane, Bimeby she blow some more, An' de scow bus' up on Lac St.
Pierre, Wan arpent from de shore.
AL Now all good wood scow sailor man Tak' warning by dat storm An' go an' marry some nice French girl An' leev on wan beeg farm. De win' can blow lak hurricane An' s'pose she blow some more, You can't get drown on Lac St.
Pierre So long you stay on shore.
