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Mon Frere Camille

Mon frere Camille he was first class blood     W'en he come off de State las' fall,

Wearin' hees boot a la mode box

An' diamon' pin on hees shirt

Sam' as dem feller on Chi-caw-go;   But now he 's no blood at all,                                         Camille, mon frere.

W'at 's makin' dat change on mon frere     Camille?   Wall!  lissen for minute or two,

An' I 'll try feex it up on de leetle

Dat 's geevin' some chance kin' o' help it

So wedder I'm right or wedder I'm wrong   You 'll know all about heem w'en I get     t'roo,                                         Mon frere Camille.

He never sen' leter for t' orteen year   So of course he mus' be all

Till telegraph 's comin' from Kan-Ka-Kee"I 'm leffin' dis place on de half pas't'reeW'at you want to bring is de beg' buggee   An' double team sure for me t' orsday night                                         Ton frere Camille."I wish you be dere w'en Camille arrive   I bet you will say "W'at 's dat?"For he 's got leetle cap very lak tuque

Ole habitant 's wearin' in bed, dat's true,

An' w'at do you t'ink he carry too?   Geev it up?

Wall! small valise wit' de fine     plug hat.                                         Mon frere Camille."Very strange." I know you will say right off,   For dere 's not'ing wrong wit' hees clothes,

An' he put on style all de bes' he

Wit' diamon' shinin' across hees han' An' de way he's talkin' lak Yankee man   Mus' be purty hard on hees nose,                                        Mon frere Camille.

But he 's splain all dat about funny cap,   An' tole us de reason w'y,

It seem no feller can travel far,

An' specially too on de Pullman car,'Less dey wear leetle cap only 'cos dollarre,   Dat 's true if he never die,                                       Mon frere Camille.

Don't look very strong dem fancy boot   But he 's splain all dat

He say paten' ledder she 's nice an'

You don't need to polish dem ev'ry day,

Besides he 's too busy for dat alway,   W'en he's leevin' on Chi-caw-go,                                       Mon frere Camille.

But de State she was n't  de only place   He visit all up an' down,

For he's goin' Cu-baw an' de Mex-i-co,

W'ere he 's killin' two honder dem wil' taureau,

W'at you call de bull: on de circus show,   O! if you believe heem he travel roun'.                                       Mon frere Camille.

So of course w'en ma broder was gettin' home   All de peop' on de parish

Every night on de parlor for hear heem

How he foller de brave General Roosvel'W'en rough rider feller dey fight lak hell   An' he walk on de front wit' great beg     drum,                                        Mon frere Camille.

An' how is he gainin' dat diamon' ring?   Way off on de Mex-i-coW'ere he 's pilin' de bull wan summer

Till  it 's not easy haulin' dem all away,

An' de lady dey 're t'rowin' heem large     bouquet   For dey lak de style he was keel taureau,                                         Mon frere Camille.

Wall!  he talk dat way all de winter t'roo,   An' hees frien' dey was tryin' fin'Some bull on de country dat 's wil'

For mon frere camille, but it 's purty tough'Cos de farmer 's not raisin' such fightin' stuff   An' he don't want not'ing but mos' worse     kin'                                         Mon frere Camille.

Dat 'd not pleasan' t'ing mebbe los' hees trade,   If we don't hurry up, for sure,

I s'pose you t'ink I was goin' it strong?

Never min' , somet'ing happen  'fore very

It 'll all come out on dis leetle song   W'en he pass on de house of Ma-dame     Latour                                         Camille, mon frere.

We 're makin' pique-nique on Denise Latour   For helpin' put in de

Too bad she 's de moder large

An' los' de bes' husban' she never seeW'en he drown on de reever, poor Jeremie,   So he come wit' de res' of de gang dat day,                                         Camille, mon frere.

An' affer de hay it was put away   Don't tak' very long at all,

De boy an' de girl  she was lookin'

For havin' more fun 'fore dey lef' de groun' An' dey see leetle bull, mebbe t'ree honder     poun'   An' nex' t'ing I hear dem call                                         Mon frere Camille.

So nice leetle feller I never see   Dat bull of Ma-dame

Wit' curly hair on de front hees

An' quiet? jus' sam' he was almos'

An' fat? wall!  de chil'ren  dey see heem fed   So he 's not goin' keel heem I 'm very sure,                                        Mon frere Camille.

But de girl kip teasin' an' ole Ma-dame   She say, "You can go

He cos' me four dollarre six mont'

So if anyt'ing happen ma small taureau,

Who 's pay me dat monee I lak to know?"   An' he answer, "Dat 's me w'en I keel     heem dead"                                         Mon frere Camille.

Den he feex beeg knife on de twelve foot pole,   So de chil'ren  commence to

An' he jomp on de fence, an' yell, "Hooraw"An' shout on de leetle French bull,  "Dis donc!

Ain't  you scare w'en you see feller from Cu-     baw?"   An' he show  heem hees red necktie,                                         Mon frere Camille.

L'petit taureau w'en he see dat tie   He holler for half a

Den he jomp on de leg an' he raise de

Ba Golly!

I'm sure I can see heem now.

An' dey run w'en dey hear heem, de noder     cow   Den he say, "Dat bull must be surely wil'"                                         Mon frere Camille.

But de bull don't care w'at he say at all,   For he 's watchin' dat red

An' w'en ma broder he push de poleI 'm sure it 's makin' some purty large hole,

If de bull be dere, but ma blood run col'   For de nex' t'ing I hear heem cry,                                          Camille, mon frere.

No wonder he cry, for dat sapree bull   He 's yell leetle bit some more,

Den he ketch ma broder dat small

Only cos' four dollarre six mont'

An' he 's t'rowin' heem up from de groun'     below   Wan tam, two tam, till he 's feelin' sore,                                          Camille, mon frere.

An' w'en ma broder 's come down agen   I s'pose he mus' change hees min' An' mebbe t'ink if it 's all de sam'He 'll keel dat bull w'en he get more

For dere he was runnin' wit' ole Ma-dame   De chil'ren, de bull,  an' de cow  behin'                                           Camille, mon frere.

So dat's de reason  he 's firse class blood   W'en he come off de State las'

Wearin' hees boot a la mode bo

An' diamon' pin on hees shirt

Sam' as dem  feller on Chi-caw-go   But now he 's no blood at all,                                            Camille, mon frere.

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William Henry Drummond

William Henry Drummond (April 13, 1854 – April 6, 1907) was an Irish-born Canadian poet whose humorous dialect poems made him "one of the most p…

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