|_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _ Uncle Emile's been gone now nearly ten days_ Told his wife he be goin' for the fishing_ But in the waters off St. Pierre and Miquelon Isles_ The fishes come in bottles of gold_ If the Anne-Marie don't break and the Mounties stayin' blind_ He'll be back before the moon is rising_ With a very fine catch all safe in the hold_ Thirty cases of Trinidad light_ For Acadian Saturday night_ |_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _ Now Emmeline Comeau works the general store_ My Papa says she's good for the custom's_ She got eyes like fire and hair past her shoulders_ As shiny black as Cumberland coal_ You can see her Sunday morning on the St. Phillipe road_ Her maman close behind like a dragon_ But her mama doesn't know what she does behind the hall_ Away from the music and the light_ On Acadian Saturday night_ And it's oh_ don't the fiddles make you roll_ Your heart she will pound like a hammer_ There's a fat lady beating her piano like a drum_ And everybody's higher than a kite_ On Acadian Saturday night_ |_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _ Now granpa says it was better in his day_ The Mounties stayed away from the parties_ And they didn't mind a fight when the spirit got high_ You could always throw them out in the snow_ And the rum was better and it came in bigger bottles_ And the revenue cutters were slow_ Still_ the old Anne-Marie has wings on the water_ And there's nothing like Trinidad light_ For Acadian Saturday night_ And it's oh_ don't the fiddles make you roll_ Your heart she will pound like a hammer_ There's a fat lady beating her piano like a drum_ And everybody's higher than a kite_ And it's oh_ don't the fiddles make you roll_ Your heart she will pound like a hammer_ There's a fat lady beating her piano like a drum_ And everybody's higher than a kite_ On Acadian Saturday night_ |_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _|_ _ _