Monsieur The Cur' Down The Street Comes With His Kind Old Face,-- With His Coat Worn Bare, And His Straggling Hair, And His Green Umbrella-Case. You May See Him Pass By The Little "Grande Place," And The Tiny "H'Tel-De-Ville"; He Smiles, As He Goes, To The Fleuriste Rose, And The Pompier Th'Ophile. He Turns, As A Rule, Through The "March'" Cool, Where The Noisy Fish-Wives Call; And His Compliment Pays To The "Belle Th'R'Se," As She Knits In Her Dusky Stall. There'S A Letter To Drop At The Locksmith'S Shop, And Toto, The Locksmith'S Niece, Has Jubilant Hopes, For The Cur' Gropes In His Tails For A Pain D''Pice. There'S A Little Dispute With A Merchant Of Fruit, Who Is Said To Be Heterodox, That Will Ended Be With A "Ma Foi, Oui!" And A Pinch From The Cur''S Box. There Is Also A Word That No One Heard To The Furrier'S Daughter Lou; And A Pale Cheek Fed With A Flickering Red, And A "Bon Dieu Garde M'Sieu!" But A Grander Way For The Sous-Pr'Fet, And A Bow For Ma'am'Selle Anne; And A Mock "Off-Hat" To The Notary'S Cat, And A Nod To The Sacristan:-- For Ever Through Life The Cur' Goes With A Smile On His Kind Old Face-- With His Coat Worn Bare, And His Straggling Hair, And His Green Umbrella-Case.