In the beautiful city of Reims,
A blacksmith was washing his jeans.
He cried, "Woe! Alas!
I sat in the grass.
Now my trousers will never get clean."

So he called on his mistress in Tours,
Who was ugly as sin, but not poor.
He said, "If you would
Lend me money, I could
Purchase new pants at the store."

Said she, "That fair summer in Nice,
When I bought you three ducks and two geese,
I said if again
You should ask me to lend
You a penny, I’d call the police."

"But I have to go to Calais,"
The blacksmith did pleadingly say,
"And how will it be
If people should see
All these grass stains I can’t wash away?"

"My friend, I’ve heard in Lyon,
There’s a woman that you call your own,
Why don’t you ask her
To buy you pants, Sir?"
Said his mistress with eyes cold as stone.

Said the blacksmith, "Since we were in Cannes,
I’ve been faithful as any good man.
And now you imply
I’d deceive you and lie.
That’s nearly more than I can stand!"

"If you love me then go to Le Mans,
And murder my awful husband.
And we can be wed,"
The woman then said,
And she placed several coins in his hand.

Said the smith, "From Arles to Paris,
I’d have never believed you could be
So heartless and cold.
You keep all your gold!
And I’ll keep these grass stains on my knee."

The blacksmith returned then to Reims,
And all night he scrubbed at his jeans.
And what do you know?
Soon the stains didn’t show
And he was not ashamed to be seen.