An' w'at M'sieu Smit' he is call "bat' tubbe."

M'sieu Smit' he's tole me w'at for's dat t'ing,
An' it seem Englishman he don't feel correc'
Until he's go plonge on some bat' morning
An' sponge it hees possibill high hees neck.

Of course dat's not'ing of my beez-nesse,
He can plonge on de water mos' ev'ry day,
But I t'ink for mese'f it mak foolishness
An' don't do no good w'en your bonne sante.

W'en I tell 'Poleon he mus' mak' dat job,
Dere's leetle too moche for canoe d'ecorce,
He's mad right away an' say "Sapre diable!
You t'ink I go work lak wan niggerhorse?

"I'm not manufacture dat way, ba non,
Dat rich stranger man he have lot monee,
I go see my frien' Onesime Gourdon,
An' tole heem bring horse wit' some more buggee."

Wall! affer some w'ile dey'll arrange all dat,
'Poleon an' hees frien' Onesime Gourdon,
But w'en 'Poleon is tak' hole of bat',
He receive it beeg scare immediatement!

Dat chien boule dog, I was tole you 'bout,
I am not understan' w'at good she's for,
Eat 'Poleon's leg w'it hees teet' an' mout,