At the evening of Saint-Jean
A farmer who scraped from his annuity
In the field of poor people's poverty
Went to make enquire about a maid.
After a long nodding
For four pairs of clogs per year
With the crust, and the housing,
He roped the Julie in,
The Julie, she was so beautiful...
He employed her with no rest,
From the early morning to the late night,
Leading the livestock pasturing on
In the poor grass of the moor
But one night he was so happy
After drinking some tripples of wine
He felt falling in love
And jumped into the Julie's bed
The Julie, she was so beautiful...
Since that day, turned madly in love
He then paid for idle pleasures
Fineries the goldsmith of the village
Always makes you pay an eye and an arm
Then he sold his heathers and his bromms
He sold his land and his workers
To the only purpose of make money
To give it to the Julie
The Julie, she was so beautiful...
So that he did not have anything left,
He had even sold his farm,
He went down on the road
Like a fella who doesn't pay for his life.
But that day was Saint-Jean
For four pairs of clogs per year
With the crust and the housing
He clocked on to the Julie
The Julie, she was so beautifil....