BOUDREAUX. O, lawdy. Dat raht now we had us here
   Fo’ or tree o’ dem lazy bayou rats
   Home fishin dis mo’nin’ like erry day.
AWNREE. Who dat say dat?
    Iz ‘at you cuz? Mais, it do’n matta none;
    If we gon’ kick dat bucket, we enuf
    To make Acadiane most sore hurt;
    And if we get on, well, da less us,
    Da bettah we gon look when we done did.
    Gawd’s sake! Don’t go axin’ for even one more.
    Choooh! I don’t care nuttin for dat gold stuff,
    An’ I don’t ahnvee what udders eatin’;
    No boo-day, me, if my blous’ it gets stole;
    Dese tings is jes nuttin, lees’ to my min’.
    But if iss bad to want dat honor, mais,
    Den I’m the baddess man dat evuh wuz.
    Mais non, coo zanh, ax for nun dem in town.
    Lawd knows I ain’t gon to miss out on dis,
    And jes hanover what’s comin’ to me.

Spread da word, Thibodeaux, to errybody,

    If you ain’t got stomach for dis fit,
    You can vamoose; wid a ass kick to boot.
    I’ll make da bill for da bus, dat’s for true;
    None a us wants to ride wit dat cooyan
    Who ain’t got da bon couer to die wid us.
    At da church, dey cerebratin San Crispi’.
    All dem who make it tru and gets back home,
    Gon erry year drink beaucoup beer dat day,
    And in Crispi’s name rouller les bon temps!
    Even when his prospect is all swoll up,
    He spread dat big pig and light da fayhr,
    Den call out, ‘Duhmara is San Crispi’s!’
    He’ll jerk up dat chemise, show all dem scars,
    And tell da folks, ‘Got dem from Crispi’s day.’
    Old man’s mem’ry ain’t too good; but all gawn,
    He’ll make vay-yay, wit peoples lissen up,
    To all his bad tale. An den usses names,
    Which he recall like da back o’ his hand —
    Awnree da kang, LaFourche and Lafayette,
    Broussard and Bourgeois, Prejean and Babineaux —
    Will wit da wine be spoke of plenty.
    Da parrain will learn his godson da tale;
    And Crispi’ Crispianne won’t never go by,
    From dis very day till kingdom it come,
    When we ain’t tawked of high and mightily.
    Jes us, ma frans, us Cajun confreres.
    Cause all dem who gets bloody wit me t’day
    He is my brudder; I don’t care how nasty;
    Dis fight will make him all da bettah fo’ it.
    And all dem from da Ville now on da bayh,
    Will get a ser’ous case of de chew rouge,
    An’ dey keep dem moufs shut, when any tawks,
    Dat fighted wid us at San Crispi’s day.

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