The Canucks in Canuckville

The Canucks in Canuckville liked freedom a lot,But the Grinches who ruled from above them did not. What Canucks called tradition they deemed mere delusion, What Canucks thought was freedom they renamed confusion.

Where buyers and sellers in markets were free, They cried exploitation and not liberty. Where people had lives not controlled by the state, It offended the gaze of the good and the great.

Where ageism, sexism, and lookism reigned, High brows got all furrowed, expressions got pained. Our subjects are merry, chaotic and loud, A huge vulgar mixup. How can we be proud?

With our fancy degrees and our noble intentions, Gender studies and “discourse” and suchlike inventions. We’ll make this into a post modern post nation, We won’t heed their non-PC, base lamentation.

We’ll regulate TV and seat belts and cheese, Street hockey and boating; whatever we please. We’ll tell them what poison to use on a mouse, And how many plugs they must have in their house.

We’ll tell them their mattresses all must have tags, Patronize them with warnings on clear plastic bags. We’ll put green-friendly light bulbs in each Canuck’s hand, But to bike with no helmet will surely be banned.

We’ll make them join unions; we’ll meddle with wages, We’ll subsidize books with Canadian pages We’ll give them a Charter with rights no one knows, With rulings from judges that no voter chose.

We’ll limit Fox News lest it cause them confusion, To hear diverse views in disordered profusion. We’ll drag all their kids to a dull public school, Where we’ll teach them sex ed not some dumb golden rule.

We’ll make them quit smoking and take up a sport, We’ll regulate when where and how they cavort. If they try to get married the time-honoured way, We’ll claim that they hate every person who’s gay.

We’ll promise them health care that’s totally free, And a family doctor who’s easy to see. But we’ll skimp on provision, with this lovely twist, When they’re sick we’ll put them on a long waiting list.

If this were some poem by old Dr. Seuss, You know what would put a stop to their abuse. We’d hold hands and sing, and at us they would look, And see us all happy without what they took.

And when they clued in that we were not just jokin’, We really were joyful, our spirits unbroken. Their hearts would grow larger, three times in one day, And their wish to coerce us would just go away.

But sadly it’s not how things work in this place, A power-mad smirk’s hard to wipe off a face. So we, we ourselves, must climb right up Mount Crumpet, And lug up the whole nanny state, there to dump it.

Remember we’re voters, not cute little Whos, It’s us who elect those strange folks in the news. And remember we’re free, but it comes at a price, Of vigilant principle, strong and yet nice.

We’re still a free people, despite all our woes, And we still make the laws with our yes’s and no’s. Just be firm when you vote and stand up for each right, And I’ll wish you an unregulated good night.

[First published in Fraser Forum]

ColumnsJohn Robson