12 Days of Christmas
Here's the Cajun Version of the 12 Days of Christmas
Day 1: Dear Emille,
Tanks for da bird in da pear tree. Ah fixed it las' night
wit mah dirty rice and it was delicious! Ah don' tink
da pear tree will grow in da swamp, so ah swapped it
for a satsuma.
Day 2: Dear Emile,
Your letter say you sent 2 turtle dove, but all ah got was
chree scrawny pigeons.Any way, I mixed dem wit audouille
and made some gumbo.
Day 3: Dear Emile,
Wy don' you send me some crawfish? Ah'm tired of
eating dem darn birds. I gave 2 of dose prissy French
chickens to Mrs. Ruiz over at Grand Bayou and fed da
tird to my dog Phideaux. Mrs. Ruiz needed sparring
partners for her fightin' rooster.
Day 4: Dear Emile,
Mon Dieux! I tole you, no more frigging birds.
Cher! Deez 4, what you call "calling birds", day so noisy,
you could hear dem all da way to Napoleonville!
I used they necks for mah crab traps, and fed da res' to
da gators.
Day 5: Dear Emile,
You finally send me someting useful. Ah liked dem
golden rings. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodaux
and got enough monies to fix da shaft on mah shrimp boat
an buy a round for the boys at da Raisin' Cane Lounge.
Day 6: Dear Emile,
Couchon! You back to da birds, you Cajun turkey!
Poor egg-suckin' Phideaux is scared to death uh dem
six geese. He tried to eat dey eggs and dey pecked
da heck out uh heem snout! Dey good at eatin' dem
cockroaches, though. Ah may stuff one uh dem wit
oyster dressing on Cristmas day.
Day 7: Dear Emile,
Ah'm gonna' ring your fool neck next time ah see you!
Boudreaux, da mailman, is bout ready to keel you!
Da merde from all dose birds is stinkin up hees mail boat.
He's afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue heem.
I let dose 7 swans loose to swim on da bayou, and some
duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem outta da water.
Talk to you later, Cher.
Day 8: Dear Emile,
Poor old Boudreaux had to make chree trips on hees
mail boat to deliver dem 8 maids-a-milkin' and dey cows.
One of da cows got spooked by da gators and almos
tipped over da boat. I don' like dem shiftless maids,me.
I tol' dem to geet to work guttin' fish and sweepin' mah
shack, but dey probably tink dey too good to skin da
nutrias ah caught las' night.
Day 9: Dear Emile,
What you tryin' to do! Boudreaux had to borrow da Lutcher
ferry to carry deese jumpin' twits you call "lords-a-leapin'
across the bayou. As soon as dey got here, dey wanted
a tea break and crumpets. I don know what dat means, crumpets.
I don know what dat means, but Ah says, "Well, La-Dee-Da!
You get Chicory coffee or nuttin." Mon Dieux, Emile.
What Ah'm gonna feed deese bozos? Deys too snooty for
fried nutria, and da cows ate mah turnip greens?
Day 10: Dear Emile,
You mus' be out you mind! If da mailman don' keel you,
I weel! Today he delivered 10 half nekkid floozies from Burbon Street.
Dey say dey be "Ladies Dancing", but dey don' act like ladies in
front dose Limey twits. An' dey almos' left after one dem got
bit by uh Water Moccasin over by du out-house.
I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde(everybody) and geet
terlit paper. Da Sears catalog ain't good enough for dose hoity toity
lords behind. Talk at ya later, Cher!
Day 11: Dear Emile,
Where Yaaat! Cheerio and pip pip. Your 11 pipers piping arrived
today from da House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat.
We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey
and we're having a fais-do-do. Da new mailman drank a whole bottle
of Jack Daniels and hees havin' uh good ol' time dancing wit da floozies.
The old mailman jumped off da Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming
your name. If yu geet a tickin' box in da mail ----
Day 12: Dear Emile,
Ah'm sorry to tell you, but Ah'm not your true love no more.
After da fail-do-do, Ah spent da night wit Jacque, da head piper.
We decided to open a restaurant and gentlemen's club on da bayou.
Da floozies, pardon me, "Ladies dancing", can make $20.00 for uh table
dance, and da lords can be waiters and valets, park da boats.
Since da maids have no more cows to milk, i trained dem to set mah
crab traps, watch mah trotlines, and run mah shrimpin' business.
Weeel probably gross a million dollars next year! Good Bye!