Remember when they wrote a tongue in cheek song for Montreal's notorious Lucien Rivard
Here's the words:
THE BALLAD OF BORDEAUX JAIL
Anne-Marie Fauteux (1965)
The warden sat at sundown,
A busy day was o’er,
He’d just lit up a fat cigar,
When a knock came at the door.
“Entrez, entrez !” the warden cried,
“La porte she is ajar !”
And who walked in, to his surprise,
But Big-Wheel, Lou Rivard !
“How come, Big-Wheel, you promenade,
It’s curfew-time, n’est-ce pas ?
I warning you to prenez-garde,
Before you break the law !”
“Pardonnez-moi mon capitane,
I did not stop to think,
But with your kind permission,
I would like to hose the rink.”
“To hose the rink ? Why sacre-bleu,
You must be wan big fool !
The rink my friend she’s beaucoup d’eau,
Like outdoor swimming pool !”
Now Rivard, like the quick brown fox,
Who must outwit the hound,
He senses with his gambler’s ken,
That he is gaining ground.
“It’s true Monsieur that ce matin,
The rink was soft like slop,
Regardez – since après-midi,
The temperature go plop !”
“C’est vrai, fait chaud from where you sit,
Across the great divide,
But where I stand I feel a draft,
Bébé it’s cold outside !”
“Eh bien, voilà, go get the hose,
Permission you obtain,
Like my new boss, Claude Wagner say,
We must be more humane.”
“Merci Monsieur, au revoir, adieu,
Light up your cold cigar,
I will not bother you again,
Exit Lucien Rivard ! !”
“Exit ! Exit !” the warden muse,
“He make the big joke, no ?
Quelle difference, he safe behind
The walls of old Bordeaux !”
One hour she pass, the warden doze,
Then bingo, tout de suite,
The sirens wail, the guards aussi,
There’s panic in the street ! !
The warden freeze – like paralyze,
The joke he get trop tard,
“Certainement, mon dieu, c’est ça,
The hose – the rink – Rivard ! ! ! “
Trop tard ! He stagger to his feet,
No need to ask pourquoi,
“Certainement – mon dieu – c’est ça,
Lucien Rivard s’en va ! !”
He cry, Monsieur the warden,
Enfin he see it all,
Big hose not for the rink by gar,
Big hose for over wall ! !
He grind his teeth, he pull his hairs,
He’ll never smile again,
As he implore, encore, — encore –
“WHERE ARE YOU LUCIEN ! ! ! “
The search goes on relentless,
Through valley, hill and dell,
They seek him here, they seek him there,
That Gallic Pimpernel.
For years to come in Crooksville,
They’ll tell the epic tale,
How Rivard left his footprints,
On the walls of Bordeaux Jail.