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It's of a bold young smuggler,
From Fortune he did sail;
He rode the waves from St. Pierre,
And he never saw the jail.
He filled her up with contraband,
Perfume, smokes, and rum;
He hoped the fog was thick enough,
To make another run.
You can still see the sight on a winter's night,
Of his wake in the light of the moon;
If the wind turns right and you don't take fright,
You can smell that French perfume.
But the Mountie boat was waiting,
As he crawled up Fortune Bay;
And when they hit the spotlight,
It was like the light of day.
He didn't bring her head 'round,
When they told him to heave to;
He opened up the engines,
And he ran for Spanish Room.
You can still see the sight on a winter's night,
Of his wake in the light of the moon;
If the wind turns right and you don't take fright,
You can smell that French perfume.
They said they heard him laughing,
With the Mounties closing in;
His engines screaming murder,
And his face set in a grin.
The seagulls started lifting,
Like an angry banshee choir;
He hit the rocks at 50 kliks,
And the sky lit up with fire.
It's of a bold young smuggler,
From Fortune he did sail;
He rode the waves from St. Pierre,
And he never saw the jail.
And when it's cold and foggy,
On the rocks near Spanish Room;
They say you hear him laughing,
And you smell that French perfume.
You can still see the sight on a winter's night,
Of his wake in the light of the moon;
If the wind turns right and you don't take fright,
You can smell that French perfume.
You can still see the sight on a winter's night,
Of his wake in the light of the moon;
If the wind turns right and you don't take fright,
You can smell that French perfume.
You can smell that French perfume.
Recorded by Great Big Sea (Sea Of No Cares, trk#8, 2002, WEA Scarborough, ON).
