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.