"I'd lick your leetle boy Dominique, I'd lick heem till he's crying purty hard, An' for fear he's gettin' spile, I'd geev' heem castor ile, An' I wouldn't let heem play outside de yard."
If you see ma leetle boy Dominique Hangin' on to poor ole "Billy" by de tail, W'en dat horse is feelin' gay, lak I see heem yesterday, I suppose you t'ink he's safer on de jail? W'en I'm lightin' up de pipe on de evenin' affer work, An' de powder dat young rascal's puttin' in, It was makin' such a pouf, nearly blow me t'roo de roof-- W'at's de way you got of showin' 'twas a sin?
"Wall! I put heem on de jail right away, You may bet de wan is got de beeges' wall! A honder foot or so, w'ere dey never let heem go, Non! I wouldn't kip a boy lak dat at all."
Dat's good advice for sure, very good, On de cellar, bread an' water--it'll do, De nice sweet castor ile geev heem ev'ry leetle w'ile, An' de jail to finish up wit' w'en he's t'roo! Ah! ma frien', you never see Dominique W'en he's lyin' dere asleep upon de bed; If you do, you say to me, "W'at an angel he mus' be, An' dere can't be not'ing bad upon hees head."
Many t'ank for your advice, an' it may be good for some, But de reason you was geev it isn't very hard to seek-- Yass! it's easy seein' now, w'en de talk is over, how You dunno ma leetle boy Dominique.
W'en I was young boy on de farm--dat's twenty year ago-- I have wan frien', he's leev near me, call Jean Bateese Trudeau, An offen, w'en we are alone, we lak for spik about De tam w'en we was come beeg man, wit' moustache on our mout'.
Bateese is get it on hees head he's too moche educate For mak' de habitant farmerre--he better go on State-- An' so wan summer evening we're driving home de cow He's tole me all de whole beez-nesse--jus' lak you hear me now.
"Wat's use mak foolish on de farm? dere's no good chances lef', An' all de tam you be poor man--you know dat's true you'se'f; We never get no fun at all--don't never go on spree Onless we pass on 'noder place, an' mak it some monee.
"I go on Les Etats-Unis, I go dere right away, An' den, mebbe, on ten-twelve year, I be rich man some day, An' w'en I mak' de large fortune I come back, I s'pose, Wit' Yankee famme from off de State, an' monee on my clothes.