Firs' t'ing I know ma trotter's drop
Dat tail was stan' so straight before,
An' affer dat, mebbe he stop
For me, I don't know not'ing more.

But w'en I'm come alive again
I fin' dat horse call "Clevelan' Bay"
Was got firs' place, an' so he's gain
Dat wan mile heat on straight away.

An' now w'erever I am go
Bad boy he's sure for holler an' yell
Dis donc! Dis donc! Paul Archambault!
W'at's matter wit' your chestnutte bell?

Mak' plaintee troub' dem bad garcons,
An' offen ring some bell also,
Was mad! Could plonge on de St. Laurent
An' w'at to do, "Castor" don't know.

Las' tam I pass de railway track
For drive avec mon frere Alfred,
In-jinne she's ring, "Castor" he's back,
Monjee! it's fonny I'm not come dead!

Toujours comme ca! an' mak' me sick,
But horse dat work long on les chars
Can't broke dem off on fancy trick
So now I'm busy for sole "Castor."