We were gathered by the trees
Enjoying a breeze
In September of ninety-nine;
Our squeezeboxes sang
And our music rang
Out through the tall green pines.
We were playing real good
Like we thought we should
With our little squeezebox band;
Then along came a man
A big husky man
The French Canadian.
He had a little box
He had made himself
Like none had ever seen;
Just one little row
In the key of D
On his tiger striped machine.
He took the stage
In the evening show
With the little box in his hand;
And with elbows out
He pumped that box
And astonished the entire band.
He played all stops
And shook the hall
With the sound from that little box;
With lightning speed
He worked those reeds
'Till the audience was in shock.
He finished his song
And left the stage
But we made him do it again;
And we stood to applaud
That man Raynald
The French Canadian.