Jobert's Whore

When I visited New Orleans and took a tour through the bayou and heard the cajun-speak of the guide, it fascinated me, and I wrote this to try to capture the mood.

The water's murky, tannin stained,
It's color grayish brown,
By plants, the cajun man explained
Through smoke enshrouded frown.

It's been dat way since I was born
Won' change before I die,
So none of you ha’ need to mourn,
Or bid dis place goodbye.

It's filled wit' stories I could tell,
Wit' tales of gree' and sin.
Wit' people who will burn in hell
Because dat's where dey've been.

You see dat shack o'er yonder dere,
Da one dat has no door.
Well dat's where Belle du Charm once were
When she was Jobert's whore.

And he a gambler was, dey said,
A killer too, it seems.
For Belle, she turned up very dead
Da gators heard her screams.

And dos' same gators gat'ered dere
To watch da gory sight.
Wi'h sharpened knife he di' prepare
To slice her up dat night.

Da murky water den turned red
As Jobert's knife di' flail.
Da gators once more overfed
On his cut-up female.

Da moonlight t'rough da Spanish moss
Again has seen da sight
And none will come to mourn da loss
Of one more soul tonight.

So dere's the tale of dat old shack,
It's haunted, so beware.
All dose women have now come back
To search for old Jobert.

Dey prowl da eerie swamp at night,
A ghost-like presence dere.
Da hunted killer shrinks in fright
He hides dere, so beware.

So dis I tell you, dis I say,
It ain’ no bayou lore.
You want to live anot'er day,
Don’ you be Jobert’s whore.