Marechal Jensen wrote: Very clever.
That must have been Johnny Cache.
CJ
HAHA!!! Yes and his wife was June Cartier-Cache.
This same writer also wrote a song in 1807 about the rise of Napoleon called "One Prince at a Time"
CHORUS
I took Europe one Prince at a time
And it didn't cost me a dime
You'll know it's me when I come through your town
I'm gonna ride around in style
I'm gonna drive everybody wild
'Cause my style is the only one around.
Later on he wrote a song about Soult:
A Boy Named Soult
My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old epee and an empty bottle of wine.
Now, I don't blame him cause he ran like so fast,
But the meanest thing that he did at the last,
Was before he left, he went and named me "Soult."
Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Soult."
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My glove would drop and my sword was keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search from the Milky Way to Mars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name.
Well, it was Magdeburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a few.
At an old tavern on a street of manure,
There at a table, sharpening his rap-ure,
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Soult."
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old,
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Soult!' How do you do!
Now your gonna die!!"
Well, he drew his sword and I drew mine,
And I was about ready to draw the line,
When this old gal took a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across her teeth
And tossed her through the wall and into the street
Just so I could have a private fight with dear old dad.
I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He lunged like a mule and he cut like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his pistol and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong."
He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the cranky ole cuss that named you "Soult.'"
I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
So at Waterloo I saw him again, standing with Grumblers, formed in square,
As the horse artillery started to open fire.
I made me a vow to the moon and stars,
That if I ever had a son I'd name him,
Guilluame, Francois, anything but Soult!
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