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On wan dark night on de Lake St. Clair De win’ she blow, blow, blow An’ de crew of de wood scow Julie Plante Got scar’ and run below. For de win’ she blow like hurricane, By’n bye she blow some more, An’ de scow bus’ up jus’ off Grosse Pointe Ten acres from de shore. De captain walk on de fron’ deck, He walk on de hin’ deck, too; An’ he call de crew up from de hol’ An’ he call de cook also. De cook she’s name was Rosie She com’ from Montreal Was chamber-maid on lumber barge On de beeg Lachine Canal. De night was dark like wan black cat, De wave run high and fas’ W’en de captain take hees poor Rosie An’ lash her to de mas’. An’ den he take de life preserve An’ jump off in de lake, Say’n ‘Au revoir ma Rosie dear, I go drown for your sake.’ Nex’ mornin’ veree earlee, ‘bout half pas’ two-t’ree-four, De captain, scow, an’ poor Rosie Was corpses on de shore. For de win’ she blow like hurricane, An’ den she blow some more, An’ de scow bus’ up jus’ off Grosse Pointe Ten acres from de shore. Now, all good wood scow sailormen, Take warnin’ by dat storm, An’ go marree some nice French girl, An’ leev on wan beeg farm. De win’ may blow like hurricane, An’ s’pose she blow some more, You can’t get drown on Lake St. Clair So long you stay on shore. |
