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Sung to the tune of The Lumberjack Song by Monty Python. Back-up Mounties optional.


I never wanted to be Sandra Dee!

I... I wanted to be...

A LESBIAN!
(piano vamp)

Leaping from bush to bush! As they float down the mighty rivers of
Finger and Thumbia!

With my best girl by my side!

The Blond!
The Brunette!
The Giant Snookie!
The Natural Red!
The Little Spinning Skinnamarink!

We'd sing! Sing! Sing!


Oh, I'm a lesbian, and I'm okay,
I like to broadcast that I'm gay.

Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.

I see straight girls, they're not like me,
But I think that can change.

If they'd just let me kiss them.
Their lives I'd re-arrange.

Mounties: She sees straight girls, they're not like her,
But she thinks that can change.
If they'd just let her kiss them.
Their lives she'd re-arrange.

Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.


I cut down guys, I wish and hope,
That others would join in.
I wish straight women would think,
that *** with men was sin.

Mounties: She cuts down guys, she wishes and hopes,
That others would join in.
She wishes straight women would think,
that *** with men was sin.
Chorus: She's a lesbian, and she's okay,
She likes to broadcast that she's gay.


Oh I'm a lesbian and I'm OKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK K!
It wouldn’t matter
should you not have any,
for the Canadian police force
has four legs too many.
Galloping in fields,
but in alleyways long,
the arm of the law
Has no legs to stand on.
Hands Oct 2012
Here I was,
pheromones **** in the chilly fall air,
tumbling about among the atoms and molecules of
oxygen and nitrogen and methane and gas
for any to stop and smell and--
Please just grab my ***.
The truest of lights
streams into my eyes,
blinds me and unclothes me,
throws off all of my lies and false feelings
and turns me into the soppy mess I am.
I stumble down the street,
tears blurring my vision;
"I'm going for a walk,"
I tell them,
"I'm going to find my friends."
They've all left me behind,
I tell myself.
I'm alone and trailing them
on this road of
***** and
tears.
I had wrapped up my hair,
worn the shortest of shorts,
drank until I couldn't think
and still--
and still I walked alone.
The lights of Columbus and
the crisp air of an
old country route
haunt my heart,
play hopscotch and
dress it up all
nice and tidy.
Whether a **** and
pulsating body
were against me or not,
would I be happy?
My body is fighting to break free
but my drunken mind
can't even manage that.
Here I am,
world,
take me for all my
sloppy iniquities,

I think, stumbling back to the house
from an adventure poorly spent.
He had gone
and so had him,
boy was done with
my foolish whims.
True love is hard to find
and true like is even harder
but sometimes it helps to just
sit back and think and
ignore the thunder
of thousands of people pushing down
on your weary, little head--
platonic attraction
just doesn't cut it, sometimes.
The mounties rear up and back
and I walk around;
a girl pukes her heart out and
I crush it into the dirt.
The door slams open and
all eyes rest upon me,
those drunken
and
judgmental
eyes.
Their gaze burns me,
catches me alight
in the unwavering flames
of social curiosity.
"Are you all right?"
they ask me.
I fall down instantly,
sink into the old oak floorboard,
melt into the grain and
become a vague pattern among
millions and millions of black and brown circles and lines--
"Yes,"
I answer,
"I'm perfectly fine."
Here I was,
sloppy and seeping onto the cold, hardwood floor.
tonight was a disaster.
Eugene Melnyk Mar 2015
I am afraid of leaving people.
I am afraid of people leaving me.
Afraid of the world,
But I am not afraid of you.

I am afraid of loosing control.
I am afraid of loosing my mind.
Afraid of people in general,
But I am not afraid of being kind.

I am not afraid of lions.
I am not afraid by bears closing in.
Not afraid of you,
But letting you win.

I am afraid of flying saucers.
I am not afraid of monsters.

I am afraid of a man who cannot choose.
I am not afraid of a God who cannot loose.

I am afraid of the men who run the country.
I am not afraid of the mounties.

Fear is logical.
Phobia is logical.
Obedience is nonsensical.
No more weird notes

Ha
Lawrence Hall Jul 2019
Stump Junction...



              “How Ya Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm
                          (After They've Seen Paree)?”

                       -a song of the First World War

Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight -
How are they gonna keep us down on the Seine
When we have seen the gaiety of Stump Junction
By the romantic glow of sweet mary jane

The twinkle of gunfire from a .22
As Cousin Eloise potted beer bottles
While her new guy Kolby took a long ////
On her old guy Shane-Boy’s low-rider rims

The county mounties busted up the fight -
Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Yenson Aug 2022
No hopping off to the Mounties
or crossing over to stars and stripes
citing the importance of my head health
I am not in hiding in my twenty room mansion
did nowt to Joan and Kelly to give millions in redemption
and I am not opening anything to appease hordes
I am in plain sight on the battle field
girded my ***** and joined up
did my bit like most other
with no caviar or vintage
champers or port
So do your worst
it merely confirms
I am a better man than you
---

The Ballad of the Northern Land
(A Folk Song for Canada)


---

1
In eighteen hundred twelve, the cannons roared,
A young land stood with sword and board,
With Brock at Queenston, brave and true,
And Laura Secord carried through.


---

2
She walked the woods with silent tread,
To warn of plans the redcoats dread.
A whisper passed from tree to tree—
The roots of freedom run deep and free.


---

3
The fur trade waned, the forests called,
From Hudson Bay to Montreal,
With voyageurs and bark canoe,
The rivers told what we once knew.


---

4
Then westward ran the iron rail,
Through mountain mist and snow-blind gale.
The hammer rang, the spike was gold—
A ribbon tied to dreams grown bold.


---

5
Macdonald raised the nation’s spine,
A thread through rock and timberline.
While on Red River’s silent shore,
Louis Riel cried out for more.


---

6
A voice for those the Crown forgot,
For Métis lands and lives they bought.
He stood his ground, then stood alone—
A noose was tied where peace had grown.


---

7
The fisheries fed the east coast pride,
With cod and salt and ocean tide.
But quotas came, the stocks grew thin,
And storms rolled in again, again.


---

8
In muddy fields of Vimy Ridge,
Our boys held fast, then crossed the bridge.
A maple leaf in foreign mud—
A nation born in fire and blood.


---

9
The Great Depression struck like steel,
The hungry lined from mill to mill.
Yet fiddle tunes and kitchen light
Kept hopes alive through blackest night.


---

10
Then once again the war drums rolled,
And Halifax lit up with coal.
From Dieppe’s shores to Ortona’s walls,
Our fallen sons still hear the calls.


---

11
The UN flag flew proud and high,
In Egypt’s dust or Korea’s sky.
We kept the peace where others ran—
A gentle voice, a steady hand.


---

12
Joey Smallwood’s island dream,
Brought Newfoundland to the Canadian team.
With boats and boots and outport pride,
They joined the fold with hearts wide-eyed.


---

13
The sixties roared with Expo's flame,
And Trudeau rose to bold acclaim.
He danced through question, law, and line—
"Just watch me" echoed down through time.


---

14
But darker days in Montreal,
The FLQ made its grim call.
A poet died, a country strained,
And civil peace was barely gained.


---

15
The Charter came, a bright new page,
For rights to last through any age.
With Meech Lake lost and voices torn,
Quebec still sang both proud and worn.


---

16
The Arctic called with melting ice,
The North awoke with warming price.
Inuit lands and northern skies
Looked south and asked for just replies.


---

17
The Red River rose, the floods came fast,
But neighbours stood and held the blast.
From Winnipeg to Cape Breton shore,
We lifted each, we built once more.


---

18
The loonie soared, then took a dive,
But still we worked, we still survived.
With oil and grain, with snow and stone,
The land was wide, but not alone.


---

19
The Mounties rode in scarlet pride,
Their legacy both hailed and tried.
For truths long buried came to light—
The past would haunt the quiet night.


---

20
The schools of pain, the stolen years,
The calls for truth, the flood of tears.
Orange shirts and empty shoes—
A nation learning, slow to choose.


---

21
The towers fell, the world turned cold,
And Canada stood firm and bold.
We welcomed many through our door,
Each voice now part of something more.


---

22
With wildfire smoke and floods and drought,
The earth cried out with rising shout.
Yet turbines turned and green grew near—
The North still finds a way to steer.


---

23
A virus came, the world went still,
But kindness climbed the highest hill.
We sang from porches, masked and far—
Still stitched beneath the northern star.


---

24
Now comes a time both rough and wide,
With truth and tech and clashing pride.
But still we build, and still we try—
With steady hearts beneath the sky.


---

25
From battle’s smoke to silent snow,
From one small spark the tall flames grow.
O Canada, still rough, still grand—
We write your song with calloused hand.

— The End —