Oh Julie Claire was very fair,
Yet generous as well,
And many a lad of metal had
A saucy tale to tell
Of sultry squeeze beneath the trees
Or hugging in the hay. . .
Of love her share had Julie Claire
When life was lush and gay.
And then the village wealth to pillage
Came the Teuton horde;
The haughty Huns with mighty guns
And clattering of sword.
And Julie Claire had honey hair
With eyes of soft azure,
So she became the favoured flame
Of the Kommandatur.
But when at last the plague was past,
The bloody war well won,
We clipped the locks of every dox
Who dallied with the Hun.
Each wench with scorn was duly shorn;
Our Marie the shears would weld,
And Julie’s head with ringlets shed
Was like a turnip peeled.
But of these days of wanton ways
No more the village talks,
For Julie Claire has wed the Maire
Who clipped her golden locks. . .
Nay, do not try to me I
Must suffer for my sins,
For all agree the Marie must be
The father of her twins.