The Year of the Pot: A Fantasia
[May be sung to the air of ‘California Dreaming’]
Old taboos are down, and state gays are gay;
Pardoned by the crown, Justin’s sunny way.
Natives cease to frown, star in P. M.’s play;
Marijuana’s coming, so provinces make hay.
It was Justin’s vision, in his bold campaign,
But did not envision, how he would attain;
So he drew young voters, he dare not disappoint;
Or they’ll turn to floaters, ceasing to anoint.
Quebec is still resisting, legal reefers’ lure;
Government insisting, for us no high bonjour;
Still would like a big tax, should demand increase;
Growers in their pot shacks, will greet new Pot Police.
Albertans don’t worry, lack Quebec’s alarms;
Wildcatters now hurry, to plant their dreaming farms.
Real estate’s declining, oil no longer hot;
To keep on gourmet dining, time to bet on pot.
Cash and pot will change hands, on Pacific coasts;
Okanagan prime brands, are a special boast.
Speed boats filled with hash bricks, take their slice of pie;
Armed to prevent cash tricks, crews already high.
On Atlantic waters, more smuggling may return,
As Newfie antic plotters replace their fish with fern.
Nightly trucks in convoys, transfer leaf to boats;
Bringing bucks for old boys, all in U.S. notes.
New taxes hit our lumber, as thump of Trump is heard;
But do not ruin our slumber. as all our loins regird;
Our U.S. trade may flourish, one export always sold;
We merely need to nourish, our Acapulco Gold.
The reefers go back aeons, but always in hot climes;
Brought joy to sweating peons, relief from tiresome times.
But never has the weed smoke blown over wintry lands
So pray it’s not a grim joke, a stink bomb in our hands.
If a bomb it proves, Justin will lament;
Unsure of his moves, sulking in his tent.
Sol-ution is found, on an evening wet:
Pot he must impound– it’s a carbon threat.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
Neil Cameron, December 2017.