Mais, listen cher, when de cool breeze blow,
An’ de river’s runnin’ kinda slow, Dat’s
de time, I tell you wit’ a grin, When de
oyster squeezin’ fun begin!
Put down dat fricassee, ya hear? Grab dat
ice chest full o’ beer! Ev’rybody comin’
from afar, To my backyard, by de old bayou
bar!
Poppa Boudreaux, he got de knife so keen,
Pryin’ ’em open, a messy scene! Shells flyin’,
mud all on de ground, Dis ain’t no quiet
dinner, all ’round!
Den you grab ’em, fat an’ wet, A little lemon,
somethin’ you won’t regret! Tabasco splash,
a little burnin’ bite, Makin’ sure you get it
just right!
Little cousin Thibodeaux, he watchin’ close,
Tryna sneak a dozen, I suppose! “Wait, sha!
Dat ain’t de proper way!” I tell ‘im, “You
gotta squeeze it, an’ den pray!”
De laughter spillin’, de music play, Someone
yellin’, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!” Wash
’em down wit’ a cold Abita brew, Dis kinda fun, +
my friend, is for me an’ for you!
“Anotha dozen, please!” Poppa shoutin’ loud,
Lost in dat oyster-eatin’ crowd! Bellies swellin’,
faces all aglow, Eatin’ oysters ’til de roux won’t
flow!
When de sun come up, an’ de party’s done, We
tired, cher, but oh so much fun! Dat’s de magic,
pure an’ true, When dat oyster squeezin’ time come
tru!
