De corduroy road go bompety bomp,
De corduroy road go jompety jomp,
An' he's takin' beeg chances upset hees load
De horse dat'll trot on de corduroy road.
Of course it's purty rough, but it's handy t'ing enough,
An' dey mak' it wit' de log all jine togeder
W'en dey strek de swampy groun' w'ere de water hang aroun'
Or passin' by some tough ole beaver medder.
But it's not macadamise, so if you're only wise
You will tak' your tam an' never min' de worry,
For de corduroy is bad, an' will mak' you plaintee mad
By de way de buggy jomp, in case you hurry.
An' I'm sure you don't expec' leetle Victorine Leveque
She was knowin' moche at all about dem places,
'Cos she's never dere before, till young Zepherin Madore
He was takin' her away for see de races.
Oh, I wish you see her den! dat's before she marry, w'en
She's de fines' on de lan'; but no use talkin'.
I can bet you w'at you lak, if you meet her you look back
Jus' to watch de fancy way dat girl is walkin'.
Yass, de leetle Victorine was de nices' girl between
De town of Yamachiche an' Maskinongé,
But she's stuck up an' she's proud, an' you'll never count de crowd
Of de boy she geev it w'at dey call de congé.
Ah! de moder spoil her, sure, for even to Joe D'Amour,
W'en he's ready nearly ev'ry t'ing to geev her
If she mak' de mariée, only say, "Please go away,"
An' he's riches' habitant along de reever.
Zepherin he try it too, an' he's workin' somet'ing new,
For he's makin' de old woman many presen'—
Prize package on de train, umbrella for de rain—
But she's grompy all de tam, an' never pleasan'.
Wall, w'en he ax Ma-dame tak' de girl away dat tam
See dem races on Sorel wit' all de trotter
De moder say, "All right, if you bring her home to-night,
Before de cow's milk, I let her go, ma daughter."
So Victorine she go wit' Zepherin her beau
On de yankee buggy mak' it on St. Bruno,
An' w'en dey pass hotel on de middle of Sorel
Dey're puttin' on de beeges' style dat you know.
Wall! dey got some good horse dere, but Zepherin don't care.
He's back it up, hees own paroisse, ba golly,
An' he mak' it t'ree doll-arre w'en Maskinongé Star
On de two mile heat was beating Sorel Molly.
Victorine don't min' at all, till de "free for all" dey call—
Dat's de las' race dey was run before de snow fly—
Den she say, "I t'ink de cow mus' be gettin home soon now
An' you know it's only clock ole woman go by.
"An' if we're comin' late w'en de cow pass on de gate
You'll be sorry if you hear de way she talk dere,
So w'en I see de race on Sorel or any place
Affer dis, you may be sure I got to walk dere."
Den he laugh, dat Zepherin, an' he say, "Your poor mama,
I know de pile she t'ink about her daughter
So we'll tak' de short road back on de corduroy race track;
Don't matter if we got to sweem de water."
No wonder he is smile till you hear heem half a mile,
For dat morning he was tole hees leetle broder
Let de cattle out de gate, so he know it's purty late
By de tam dem cow was findin' out each oder.
So along de corduroy de young girl an' de boy
Dey was kipin' up a joggin' nice an' steady.
It isn't heavy load, an' Guillaume he know de road
For many tam he's been dat way already.
But de girl she fin' it slow, so she ax de boy to go
Somet'ing better dan a mile on fifteen minute,
An' he's touch heem up, Guillaume; so dat horse he lay for home,
An' de nex' t'ing Victorine she know she's in it.
"Oh, pull him in," she yell, "for even on Sorel
I am sure I never see de quicker racer,"
But it's leetle bit too late, for de horse is get hees gait
An' de worse of all, ba gosh! Guillaume's a pacer.
See hees tail upon de air, no wonder she was scare!
But she hang on lak de winter on T'ree Reever.
Cryin' out, "Please hol' me tight, or I'm comin' dead to-night,
An' ma poor old moder dear, I got to leave her."
Wit' her arm aroun' hees wais'—she was doin' it in case
She bus' her head, or keel herse'f, it's not so easy sayin'—
Dey was comin' on de jomp t'roo dat dam old beaver swamp
An' meet de crowd is lookin' for dem cow was go a-strayin'.
Den she' cryin', Victorine, for she's knowin' w'at it mean—
De parish dey was talkin' firse chances dey be gettin'.
\But no sooner dat young man stop de horse, he tak' her han'
An' w'isper, "Never min', ma chère, won't do no good a-frettin'."
Non! she isn't cryin' long, for he tole her it was wrong.
She's sure he save her life too, or she was moche mistaken,
An' de ole Ma-dame Leveque also kiss heem on de neck
An' quickly after dat, Hooraw! de man an' wife dey're makin'.