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James Bredin

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Toronto, ON, CA

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New York Apocalypse 911

by

James Bredin

Those images will forever leave me in a bind:
Hijacked jet planes crashing buildings implanted in my mind,
Black holes of smoke and flame way up in the sky,
New York version of apocalypse as 5000 waved good-bye.

Kinfolk cornered in infinity concerned about their lives,
Frantic fear in a furnace thinking brothers sisters wives,
The horror of this terror turned everyone a hero,
Among the firemen and policemen dead at ground zero.

And those of us who were not there but watched it on TV,
It changed our lives together to no small degree,
As we watched those blocks of buildings crumble to the ground,
Turned the center of New York to a stinking smoldering mound.

So we got those little flags -- the stars and stripes forever,
To express our feelings of sympathy, we had to stick together,
But the pain and anguish lingered with sorrow and depression,
Who stabbed us in the heart -- no one made a confession.

President Bush came on TV and told us 'bout Afghanistan,
And the rag-head band Taliban with their very scary battle plan,
With their leader called Ben Laden and their suicide attacks,
We will thrash this tinker terrorist and we will not relax.

We will never be the same again because of this man's mania,
Amid the wreckage and the debris in Washington and Pennsylvania,
Let's hope we get together and keep this continent tight,
From petty party politicians and terrorists on a flight.


When Scarborough had land

by

James Bredin

I remember Scarborough proud Protestant and blue,
With portraits of the Queen near every pew.
No Sunday shops, no music hops, no liquor on display,
Where the Lodges and the Legions marched each Victoria Day.

Where ensigns flew, Union Jacks too, unique uniforms on parade.
A raucous rush of pompous pride by pals from every trade,
As they beat the drum down Danforth Road on the twenty fourth of May,
Out to the country and back by Byng, again on Dominion Day.

Those were loyal times before the war for king and queen and all,
For more than a few, this love did cause, their ultimate downfall.
It did at Dieppe and D-day too like their seniors at the Somme,
They died for king and country; they did it for a song.

And soon they were forgotten, those who fought for king and crown,
Though those lucky to return had saved the country and the town.
They would walk again forever with their flags flying high,
Marching medals of the heroes that no one could deny.

Except the town of Scarborough was down on the drawing board,
And those fields and sheep and meadows didn't fit the grand accord.
No newcomers paid attention as the veterans vied for space,
And their parades of marching medals only had an old-time grace.

And Scarborough changed by day and night from a township to a city,
Old soldiers faded fast and few and no one had much pity.
And the immigrants came in wave after wave from places far and wide,
As the soldiers went to grave after grave with their flags and faded pride.

But still a few survive today and I'm sure they are not pleased.
'bout the changes to the town and how Scarborough had been squeezed,
From a township to a city where no one cared for esprit de corps,
So they amalgamated with Toronto and Scarborough was no more.

And culture clash and bureaucrat and ever changing rules,
Of mandarin and moguls and Tamils dressed in jewels,
While traffic roared and the buildings soared sometimes to sixty stories,
Where women wrapped in saris sashayed in all their glories.

They had lost the town without a fight, those men from long ago.
And everything was centralized; they said to save some dough,
But the authorities had lied again; it was all politically correct,
And no one marched, no flags did fly and no one did protest.

There are sometimes you still can hear it, the distant drone of pipes,
And men in kilts still carry on, just watched by boys on bikes.
They're just a faint reminder now of the many marching bands,
When those with flags and medals marched and Scarborough had some land.


To Hell or Havana

by

James Bredin

Hurry up McGillacuddy, you’ll soon be on your way.
No more you’ll hunt the pheasants with a shotgun by the bay,
No more you’ll watch the farmers cutting turf down by the bogs,
Or sheep up on the mountains being herded by the dogs.

You’ll seldom hear the pipes again or watch the colleens dance.
You’ll join the long tradition; no there’s not a single chance,
That there’s work for you in Ireland; the economy is dead.
It’s nineteen fifty four my boy; too many mouths to be fed

Hurry up McGillacuddy show them that you’re keen,
Get on that dock and board that ship you’re almost seventeen.
Don’t show them that your heart is broke or that you want to cry,
You’re proud to be an Irishman so hold your head up high.

This ship is packed with emigrants from England, Scotland, Wales.
They’re singing blimey British songs and telling taller tales.
They say you’ve got a brogue my friend and that you’re young and green,
Your patriotic pride is hurt when you’re almost seventeen.

Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re a stranger on your own.
The loneliness you’ve come to know hurts right down to the bone.
You’ll never fish the Fergus or walk Rinanna hunting hare.
These strangers here don’t know your world nor do they even care.

That place you knew just the other day; it’s gone forever now.
Was it all just an illusion -- another world somehow?
Where are those voices that you heard -- the choir in the church?
When you had all the answers and no god-forsaken search.

Hurry up McGillacuddy forget all you have done.
Canadian Immigration waits at Pier twenty-one.
They’ll process you in a minute flat and send you on your way.
You’re one of a thousand immigrants came to Halifax today.

The train is long and crowded too; no time for much emotion,
Past names like Shibinacadie it glides in locomotion.
Trapped days and nights in a carriage tight with your loneliness and pride,
You have to endure this steady strain and take it in your stride.

Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re going to shovel shit,
On a farm near Burlington; it wont hurt your pride a bit.
Three milk machines and a washcloth rag with forty Holstein cows,
In a barn big as a cathedral, some goats, some pigs, some sows.

And when you’re done with milking and feeding all that pork,
There’s a meadow with bales of hay as big as County Cork.
These farmers are a dour lot with harrows hoes and ploughs,
They toss those bales of hay all day and then milk forty cows.

Hurry up McGillacuddy, time to change career,
Your pay is nearly nothing; this slavery austere,
And the loneliness that lingers and haunts you day and night,
On a vast expanse of farm where you have no birthright.

You’re off to join the navy and you’re going back to sea,
But first to Cornwallis where you dare not disagree.
It’s yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir and running all around.
And when you’re finished marching you better go pipe down.

Hurry up McGillacuddy you’re on a navy ship,
And when you’re old enough, they’ll give you lots of rum to sip.
You’re an able seaman signalman; read those flags and flashing lights.
You’re off to the Caribbean and maybe see some sights.

It was midnight in Havana when Batista ruled the day,
And Castro ruled the hills but you had to spend your pay.
That girl with hair as black as coal, she lured you into sin,
Did you go to confession yet; how long has it been?


Wanda on Welfare

by

James Bredin

Wanda Weir was a welfare ward; she’d been there all her life,
A single mother with three kids, she would never be a wife.
She had Angie, Angus, Ailish and she soon would have another,
This would get her greater goods and more money like her mother.

She lived in Mason Mansions -- a matriarchal society,
Where hundreds hollered in the halls; no time for propriety,
Wanda modeled her career on her mother who had four,
With no fathers in existence they had food and booze galore.

She knew no one who went to work nor would she even care.
Sometimes she had a man but just a short affair.
And she didn’t need a daddy for these three or four kids,
Some moochers plotting place to play, she didn’t need his bids.

She didn’t need a man to come in and order her about,
Or to holler to his pals, black T-shirt hanging out,
And then go off to jail again and join his many friends,
And all the headaches and emotions with all the odds and ends.

And a man might want to claim that he really was her boss,
And a father to her kids, which could mean an awful loss,
Because all the men that she had known did not have a single pot,
Or anything to put in it, which meant that they had squat.

She had the government of Ontario; they would pay her rent,
And her hydro and her water and heat her apartment,
And then they’d sent a big fat cheque to pay for food and booze,
Or anything she wanted even brand new shoes.

And now her daughter Angie said she might be in that way,
In the family tradition it was just another day,
Doctor said that she was pregnant; time to change career,
From school girl to a single mom within her thirteenth year.

She would join the family custom-- no need to study math --
Another mother of the mansions with the same career path.
The easy life was waiting; she had passed the crucial test:
Pregnant with no father, she could feather her welfare nest.

And no one would dare to question, ‘bout their welfare lives,
‘bout generations of pregnant women who lived the perfect lies,
‘bout these girls not needing husbands nor even going to school,
And the hundreds of welfare children all playing by welfare rules.

And no one ever said a word - it wasn’t politically correct,
‘bout the environment in the mansions and the lives that it had wrecked,
‘bout the girls who all made babies and the boys who went to jails.
statistics screamed the numbers but no one read details.

Because the government social workers were part of the deal,
They too depended on the system and made it appeal,
To pompous politicians who needed only votes,
For peace and good government and then they could gloat.

http://jamesbredin0.tripod.com/numbereight/


The Boaster

by

James Bredin

I met Setanta in the seventies when we worked digging graves,
At the Mount Pleasant Cemetery we used shovels and spades.
We worked day and night year in year out in cold and heat and dust,
But each time we sat to drink our tea, I listened in disgust.

As he boasted ‘bout the house he bought which I did not begrudge,
And the girl he wed and the things she said -- she even knew a judge.
I heard about her jewelry and her expensive leather coat,
With sheepskin lining down to her knees, he would gloat and gloat and gloat.

I heard about the trips they made to Mexico or somewhere else down south,
And how the weather was so hot when they tried to walk about.
I head all about the cruise ships too like some ancient Greek fables,
When they got that special invitation to eat at the captain’s tables.

I heard about his furniture, all wicker and imported,
From jungle places far away, especially picked and sorted.
I heard about the car he drove with those shiny chrome wheels,
And how they ate in restaurants and all those fancy meals.

I heard about the church he loved with all those pompous pious priests,
And at the Christmas party how his kids got very special treats,
And the school they attended which was only French immersion,
His kids he said studied day and night; no time for much diversion.

As the years went by we changed a bit and worked at other places,
But now and then we’d meet again sometimes at the races.
He boasted ‘bout the horses and the jockeys that he knew,
But I knew by his winnings that he didn’t have a clue.

Sometimes I would see him outside the grocery store,
Though I often tried to hide from him and used the other door.
But he told me ‘bout his kid’s new job, working in a grocery store,
And all that management training and the special clothes he wore.

Then I read about his other son who was somehow sent to jail,
The one Setanta never talked about; from whom they’d take no bail.
I went looking for Setanta, which I had never done before,
For once in my life I felt compelled to ask him more and more and more.


Ennis

by

James Bredin

Ennis will forever be enshrined in my mind,
A small mark on the map from another place and time.
Memories dimmed by many years as though cut with a knife,
First seventeen years of love and laughter in my life.
In a town bowed down by poverty struggling to survive,
Back lanes of half-door houses waiting someone to arrive.

Narrow winding streets full of friends and farmers’ horses,
Pompous priests dressed in black who always walked on water,
And girls in long green dresses that came down below their knees,
Moving past on bicycles; boys waiting for a breeze,
And cows moving slowly herded down towards the water,
Where their blood will fill the Fergus from the houses of slaughter.

And the Christian Brothers School where Brother Brien taught,
No such thing as freedom especially freedom of thought.
We learned everything in Gaelic in the very ancient script,
Letters from the Book of Kells or some ancient warrior’s crypt.
Where are the guys I knew so well; stole by emigration?
Or shied from skirts that only hurt and joined some congregation.

And now the town is filled with cars and strangers wall to wall,
A noisy rush of foreigners in a one-way traffic crawl.
And people don’t have the time to talk or gossip half the day.
They’re in a hurry, got to scurry, got to make their pay.
And traffic lights with tourist types looking out from buses,
This madness of modern times, I wonder ‘bout the pluses?


Canadian Socialist Propaganda

by

James Bredin


Be generous and giving regardless of the cost,
Otherwise, the socialist say, the opportunity could be lost,
As our dollar drops down towards a dime and we’re poor,
Equal like communists from their 70-year tour.

Liberals prime their propaganda with their socialist shtick,
These pompous politicians with prose that will stick,
They pump the illusion that Canadians have a duty,
To give until they’re broke - all that taxpayers’ booty,

They write budgets that never pay down the national debt,
Or increase the dollar value; they haven’t bothered yet,
And Canadians behave as though drowsy at the wheel,
Unaware they’re being lured to send their last meal.

Because a country cannot bear to be bankrupt and broke,
Or have a dollar worth a dime in a national-debt yoke,
Or soldiers that can’t fight because of they’re undermanned,
Or a Supreme Court that changes every law in the land.

Billions sent to sandbag other socialist regimes,
Dictators by the dozen shouting slogans and extremes,
Devoted fellow travelers helping one another,
Card carrying cadres calling comrade or brother.

So when the day finally comes and we cannot leave town,
Because the dollar is a dime and we all wear a frown,
And the refugees and terrorist have gathered all ‘round ,
And their socialist friends have disappeared and all gone to ground.

Remember where you read, that this would come to pass,
And I’m not an economist with a ball made of glass,
So be careful when you listen to pompous politicians,
With their hidden agendas and their twisted ambitions.


Rightuous Refugees

by

James Bredin

There are no invitations to join them on the field of battle,
Why should they when they can come like a big herd of cattle?
And be accepted as refugees with slight terrorist inclinations,
And steal and sell and blow us to hell when they find the good locations,
Never banished or deported because they have their Charter Rights
And thousands of lawyers to help them in their courtroom fights,
And the socialists say we should give then all welfare for life
And call us racist or redneck for even thinking about strife.


The Alcoholic

by

James Bredin

Fred Fogerty was a friend of mine when we used to drink a lot,
But he was never showed that he was drunk and never was distraught
And friends of Fred all thought that Fred was such a decent fellow.
He was handsome hale and hardy and always kind and mellow.

Even at a party where all his pals got drunk,
Fred could handle hockey or football but behaved like a monk.
He would even drive them home ‘cause it was obvious he was sober,
But I knew Fred’s secret; he’d been drunk since last October.

Fred’s Mrs, Marguerite, knew that love was sometimes blind,
What if Fred had a drink or two? so did all mankind!
She loved that Fred no matter what and knew she always would
Though she knew Fred had a problem and she knew just where she stood.

‘cause Fred stood first in line at the liquor store each day
And a quart or two of whiskey he would secretly stash away,
He had several spots in the cemetery and more down by the park
To hide a crock or two or three and come back after dark,

He always had a reason to be out and around;
A small insignificant reason - nothing too profound,
He’d go for cigarettes and often walk the dog,
It didn’t faze Fred Fogerty - sunshine, rain or fog.

And when he came close to his stash, he’d always look about,
He was casual and cautious ‘cause he did it day in day out,
And if an innocent person he happened to discern
He’d saunter to his other stash and never show concern.

He also stashed a crock or two inside the trunk of his car,
And when he went to work each day, that trunk became a bar,
He’d slip out the factory door for some insignificant reason,
The coffee truck or a cigarette; it didn’t matter the season.

He’d open his trunk, unscrew the cap and raise a bag on high
And quickly down an ounce or three of loganberry rye,
Then back inside before they knew that he’d been an absentee,
Because he had to watch himself with that new boss, Marie.

She was young but she was ugly and probably a dyke,
And acted like someone who ruled back in the Third Reich.
She loved to be a boss and almost caught him once or twice,
Smelt liquor on his breath she said which wasn’t very nice.

And Fred attended meetings of alcohol anonymous,
He went through the motions; he would never be autonomous.
He listened to their stories ‘bout their problems with the booze,
Even gave an account or two ‘bout his own alcohol abuse.

It was a sickness and he knew it; all he needed was to cure it
And a shot or two of whiskey in order to ensure it -
stayed away -- the blues that wanted to consume him,
Depression that could entomb him -- had to be kept at bay.

But one day Fred lost the lever and crashed the forklift truck,
And Marie the new boss acted like she had become unstuck.
She sent him to the office where the manager sent him home.
Joe knew that he’d been caught and admitted he was stoned.

Then they sent him a letter that mentioned "alcohol dependent",
He would have to cure it and control it to be independent,
He needed medication in order to be rehired.
Otherwise the letter said, he could_ "consider himself_" "retired"

The shock of being retired, Fred could handle in his stride,
Because a shot or two of whiskey could bolster up his pride.
So the doctor took some blood and sent it to be analyzed,
Fred was obviously sober; why should he be penalized?

Fred had to have this filthy job to feed his wife and his kid,
Not to mention that crock or two of whiskey god forbid,
And running out of money to pay for his booze,
Could bring on deep depression -- the depth of the blues.

The analyst’s report showed that Fred was far from sober,
And cirrhosis of the liver had advanced since last October,
And Fred should be in hospital because he was so sick,
Fred couldn’t understand it - it must someone’s trick.

How could he be sick, he asked, he had never felt a pain,
"And this sickness is serious," the doctor sought to explain,
"You’ll have to quit drinking and your liver should survive.
And then instead of dying, you can work from nine to five."

"I’ve already made arrangements. Go to hospital right away.
It’s vital that your go there and don’t wait another day."
Fred waked in shock, deep in thought, as he got out to the street,
He’d have to keep this secret; couldn’t dare tell Marguerite.

He raised a paper bag in the back parking lot,
And downed three shots right away ‘cause he was distraught.
Death couldn’t be so bad he thought if there was no pain,
He’d keep this secret to himself or they’d think he was insane.

Fred Fogerty was a friend of mine and he died just the other day,
Because the doctor’s orders, he never could obey,
He drank himself to death they said, which I’m still trying to explain,
How could the booze get such a grip on Fred Fogerty’s brain?


The Bridle Path

by

James Bredin

The Bridle Path is a fine posh place of big mansion houses,
Where rich folk from Switzerland sometimes stash their spouses.
The lawns are low and weeds don’t grow and the driveways long and curved,
And license plates from New York State can sometimes be observed.

But folk are few, don’t give reviews and the place is so sedate,
But lenses watch the garden gates and hedges hide the real estate,
But if you’re blessed to be a guest you’ll see the tennis courts,
And the girls in white, all sunshine bright, running at their sports.

It was in this fine place that I first perceived Pontius de la Clair,
A gardener and a servant man and a little in despair,
As he stood on a ladder, he seemed quite sadder and clipped the cedar hedge,
And told me about Switzerland and their house on a mountain ledge.

"I should have an electric clippers and a fancy sit-down mower.
"And a long-barreled leaf blower and a sheltered snow thrower.
"We travel the world wherever we like, to Zurich or Madrid,
"I’ve driven the Rolls with all that chrome to his every buyout bid.

I didn’t tell Pontius then, because it took me time to see,
And I didn’t want to pain his pride -- we were both bourgeoisie,
He was a servant and a spectacle, part of the deluxe display
He was a lackey just like me, something serious to convey.


G20 Nov. 2001

by

James Bredin

The G20 met in Ottawa one fine day last November.
While Paul Martin of Finance told them all to remember.
That this war on terrorism should be ‘bout forgiving foreign debt,
Of the poorest countries in the world least we forget.

And this anti terrorism enthusiasm should cover all their tracks,
To tax and spend and do the right thing and blame it on anthrax,
Or maintain the present taxes with in Canada are the highest,
And push their propaganda to show that they’re not biased.

‘Cause Canada has a Charter that gives "everybody" rights,
And Canadians are all enthused about these incoming flights,
Of terrorists and refugees with their very strange names,
Meeting immigration lawyers to ply their courtroom games.

Forget all those protesters and the International Monetary Fund.
Rich countries should contribute to some special secret fund,
And send all that stash to their sound socialist friends,
Call it "Globalization Equalization" and pretend to make amends.

‘Cause Canada sends "equalization" to Quebec each year,
Six billion sixty-cent dollars and no one sheds a tear,
Raise taxes if you have to; the World Bank will understand,
And forget what happened to the South African rand.

And like Quebec, they’ll all so pleased -- no debt-ridden nations,
‘cause only good things can come from these guild-ridden donations
No terrorism, no separatism, and no huge Swiss bank accounts,
But don’t mention Shawinigan and all those hidden amounts.


People who write poetry

by

James Bredin

People who write poetry
Have had a great love
Or a great hate
Or great times
Or all three together
The others have had nothing
Merely meaningless words
And an obligation
To spread their boredom
And waste time


Canadian Currency

by

James Bredin

The Liberals dilly dally almost every day
Dissolve the dollars while they double their pay
Visit tropic vistas while dispensing social funds
Tell us daily why we should register our guns

Will we applaud when the dollar reaches up to a dime?
Because the previous day it was at 7.9.
Will we celebrate and elevate these politicians on high?
‘Cause they also allowed the national debt to go high?

And when the country’s bankrupt will we celebrate some more?
Because the government is still spending and printing dollars galore,
And if a Canadian is bold enough not to use his debit card,
Will he need mafia protection or a security guard?


Canadian Charter of Rights

by

James Bredin

Never underestimate the arrogance of pompous politicians,
As they recklessly change conditions to coincide with their ambitions,
And cheerfully write charters for "everyone’s" delight,
And get the queen to sign it as though everything’s all right,
Then no questions are allowed ‘cause this Charter’s consecrated,
Like the secrets of the judges to ensure we’re dedicated,
And the refugees and the deportees and terrorists by the score,
Try trains and boats and planes because Canada’s an open door.

And then they claim a place to stay with lots of welfare money,
For themselves, their wives and fifty kids -- their demands are far from funny.
And then these terrorists on welfare, they hide and meet and plot,
Or move across the US border if things suddenly get hot.
Why turn up for deportation if you’re busy on that date,
In Afghanistan with the Taliban or with Bin Laden in debate.
And a Canadian might ask himself, will this make me a martyr?
As the judges and politicians will hide behind their Charter.

They tax and spend or appoint their friends to the highest bench,
These appointees all smile quite pleased and even speak in French.
Their appointment-for-life has no strife ‘cause no questions can be asked.
And all that prejudiced special-interest past lies secret and unmasked.
Canadians are expected to bow their heads and be submissive,
Father knows best - that’s the test - we have to be permissive.
And guess who wrote the Charter and gave them all that clout?
And Canadians still accept it and they’re told to have no doubt.

There is no democracy when orders come from way on high,
Dictatorship and despotism is painless for politicians who can lie,
Propaganda and party politics meant for the media twice a day,
Tyranny is total when the socialists have their sway,
The shenanigans in Shawinigan was the handwriting on the wall,
Lack of democracy and bought elections could be Canada’s downfall,
Even now there is no cry ‘cause party politics is the crime,
As the dollar slips ever downwards slowly slowly towards a dime.


Canadian Budget 2001

by

James Bredin

Canadians have been conned since nineteen ninety three
That’s when the lousy Liberals promised no GST
But they kept the GST and increased the national debt
Six hundred billion plus are the numbers we get

So the Canadian dollar slid down to sixty-two cents
When it dips down to nine we’ll all be living in tents
Liberals will be happy ‘cause they always have a plan
To visit Third World friends and improve on their tan

And then they’ll celebrate when it comes back up to a dime
Because the previous day it went down to seven point nine
When the national credit cards have all been maxed out
And bankruptcy is bleak before Liberals are put to rout.

They’ll just tax and spend as usual and forget about numbers
Forget about the currency, the grumblers and the mumblers,
It’s their policies they point to all those people who are poor
In foreign fields far away where they’ve just been on tour

We should worship all the icons the Liberals loudly tell us
Like Trudeau or the Charter and all socialists who are zealous
And give all these refugees, those who have three or four wives
Welfare like the Senate for the remainder of their lives

They call it security financing as they tax and spend some more
Though the currency has gone through a hole in the floor
When the shenanigans in Shawinigan don’t bring any shame
‘Cause the Mounties and ethics guy said no one was to blame

And Canadians are mesmerized by all this fancy footwork
Of crooked politicians who bring budgets down like clockwork
And then they buy elections with published explanations
Billions or millions to the proper province or organizations


The Humiliating Canadian Dollar

by

James Bredin


The thirty-year humiliation downward for the dollar
Canada can’t circumvent this descent in a dog collar
Can’t shake the socialist slide of pompous politicians
Who wheel and deal and delve and dip in dubious transitions
Who can buy an election and bury their conflict or concern
And the shenanigans in Shawinigan can still choke and churn

Tracking the South African rand downward towards a dime
The dollar doubles descent, what an awful crime!
They bring in a budget and tax and spend, pretend for security
A monetary fund with billions put away in obscurity
Where they can put their hands on it and show their smiling faces
And clap their hands and make big plans and visit foreign places

But they never paid a penny off the horrendous national debt
That six hundred billion dollars; how could they forget?
While a third of all our taxes goes to pay the cost
Of their tax and spend policies and Paradise is lost
But they have their socialist programs in societies far away
Send the billions to their comrades because Canadians can pay


Advice to a new Canadian MP

by

James Bredin

Canadian democracy is a complete sham
Exaggerated by journalists and political hams
Who think because we had an election
We bought into dictatorship and their sense of direction

Canadian MPs are not allowed to represent
Themselves or their constituents to any extent
Because party policy rules the House
And if they’re smart, they’re quiet as a mouse

They get advice when they arrive on the hill
From some party hack with discipline to instill
"Forget everything you ever knew; we rule here
We’re the majority with the authority so have no fear.

"Talk all you want but do it in committee
Tell jokes, sing songs and even be witty
But vote as you’re told and never be bold
‘cause you too could get kicked out in the cold

"Nothing will change the present political setup
It’s party politics, stick to the policies and no letup
We will send the money wherever we want
And the opposition can ridicule and even taunt

"We can loose a billion or two here and there
You heard of HRDC and the Shawinigan affair
We just brazen it out and call the police
Announce investigations and their questions will cease

"The RCMP and the ethics guy are all on our side
We move millions and billions - so no need to hide
Buy an election with money to the right places
Sit back and then watch the surprise on their faces

"Because Parliament only sits three months a year
Keep your mouth shut and you can have a very long career
Just play by the rules because nothing will change
Forget low currency and don’t mention the exchange"


The UN

by

James Bredin

The United Nations is needed by the nasty and the greedy,
Sometimes both the same - indeed ghastly and seedy.
As these nerds in New York at their general meeting,
Attempt to warp the world to their causes by cheating.

Developing dictators want a cure for all diseases,
And their righteous refugees should have Canadian visas,
And this terrorist thing could be blocked with bundles of dough -
Stacked cash with a confession ‘bout slavery though.

This endorsement is now an entitlement and a right,
And if it’s not forthcoming we’ll have one terrible fight,
Among ourselves or with a neighbor; it just doesn’t matter,
Send a million peacekeepers or we’ll be as mad as a hatter.

We have the members and the ever-pliant media,
And enough representatives to fill an encyclopedia.
We have the International Criminal Court,
Where we appoint our judges and often consort.

No panel of jurors and no questions asked.
If our appointees are prejudiced, it’ll all be masked,
‘Cause their staff is selected according to genders,
And their "victims" are given lots of public defenders.

And our court might take an ideological stand,
In league with one hidden but prejudiced land,
Or a strange religion with a stranger belief,
Where wives are just chattels like cattle and beef.

In that prejudiced essay our Experts all wrote,
Small arms of the world should be controlled by our vote,
And no one should have the right to have or own a gun,
Without registering with us -- not even for fun.

In our human development program think tank,
We want environment control and the world central bank,
With the power to impose our own global taxes
Politically correct and all you have is axes

For our Millennium Assembly we wrote an Earth Charter,
With Castro and Mugabe there at the nonstarter.
We sought central command with communist regulations,
No armies should be needed -- just our United Nations.


The Socialists dilly dally

by

James Bredin

The Liberals dilly dally almost every day
Dissolve the dollars while they double their pay
Visit tropic vistas while dispensing social funds
Tell us daily why we should register our guns

Will we applaud when the dollar reaches up to a dime?
Because the previous day it was at 7.9.
Will we celebrate and elevate these politicians on high?
‘Cause they also allowed the national debt to go high?

And when the country’s bankrupt will we celebrate some more?
Because the government is still spending and printing dollars galore,
And if a Canadian is bold enough not to use his debit card,
Will he need mafia protection or a security guard?


BIKERS

by

James Bredin


I’ve watched those bikers with big beards and black leather jackets,
Driving past in groups, proud as punch and pleased about their rackets,
Members of the brotherhood, making noise, keeping secrets, giving beatings
But only to those who deserve it such as finks and rats; all discussed at meetings
Going places, showing faces, parading patches and going to their church
Felt as though I should go too but would I be accepted or left out in the lurch?
Shuld I apply to be a biker but what do I know about that stuff?
Should I write my resume and hand it in but I don’t think that would be enough?


INTERNAL AFFAIRS

by

James Bredin

Human nature is a mixture of ambition and opportunity.
Same traits that complement or condemn your own community.
One of the disciples approached the powers that be,
And asked about someone he could sell and guarantee,
And the location of Jesus was sold for a price -
No evidence, no crime and no rights would suffice.
And they condemned him to death for doing the wrong thing,
For preaching in Israel and saying he was king.

Things haven’t changed much down through the years,
And Internal Affairs gets their share of volunteers,
To indict their fellow comrades just to get upstairs,
No evidence, no crime and no rights but who cares,
To be praised and primed and pampered and often promoted,
Rub shoulders with the powerful while comrades are demoted,
For saying the wrong thing or thinking the wrong thought,
By those who sell their souls and can easily be bought.


Special Interest in Ottawa

by

James Bredin


The special-interest groups all have been allowed
With the multicultural and feminist crowd
And their prancing homosexual friends
To control all government policy trends
The socialists too and the communist types
Some activist anarchists of various stripes
Love these changes and cheer them on
While Liberals relax and just grin and yawn

And the Supreme Court is as crazy as the House
Made dopey decisions in defining "spouse"
And allowed Indian fishing out of season
While Canadians watched and pondered the reason
But no one would use the "notwithstanding" clause
To check or reflect the odd flaws in these laws,
So then the refugees and terrorists came
‘Cause immigration’s the same -- a Liberal game.

While the Americans wondered what was going on
The Liberals lounged while being frowned upon
They sent a few soldiers off to Afghanistan
‘Cause they only had a few and this was not their plan
Canadian soldiers could be kept as peacekeepers
On parade, guarding food and wearing sneakers
But Talaban terrorists all have free Charter rights
To be defended by lawyers to the Supreme Court heights


Canadian Refugee Types

by

James Bredin

It is obvious to anyone that Canada needs to change,
‘Cause the lineup of refugees is stretching right out of range,
Along the ramp ‘round the corner straight out to the plane,
Many so old and crippled they walk with a cane.

They want to claim their Charter rights with that refugee kit,
And no asking questions ‘bout the crimes they commit,
And hurry up now because they have people to meet,
Those immigration consultants and we have to be discreet.

‘Cause the government pays those extraordinary legal fees,
All the way to the Supreme Court if you please.
They need a bus for the wives and kids, quickly, quickly now,
And a cell phone and two motel units; there’s no need to bow.

First class from Paris and trashed documents in flight.
No more questions please and you have to be polite.
Can’t speak English and that’s another point,
Want to learn French the legal language in this joint.

‘Cause Chretien and Trudeau all wrote the Charter,
Way back in the days of President Jimmy Carter,
And there’s no way anything is ever going to change,
Even if the dollar is a dime on the Toronto Stock Exchange.


I met Ben Laden last night

by

James Bredin

I think I saw Bin Laden at the airport last night,
Just arrived from Afghanistan on an Air Canada flight.
I recognized him right away despite all the others,
The wives, the sisters, the mothers and the brothers.

He brought the four wives and all those twenty kids.
Their luggage was piled high on ten different skids.
Claiming refugee status, which I thought, was strange,
It’s the daisy cutters," Ben explained. "We were within range."

"It’s those damn Americans. We can’t trust them.
Whereas here we have Charter Rights that no one can condemn.
And the Canadian taxpayers will pay the bill, which is only fair,
‘Cause your prime minister wrote the Charter and answered our prayer."

"Hey, Bin," I said, more than a little bit perplexed,
"Look what you did in New York. They have reason to be vexed.
"Forget that," he said. "You know I too sometimes worry,
‘Cause three of my wives are pregnant and I’m in a hell of a hurry.

Tell that clerk to hurry up ‘cause I haven’t got all night.
We’re international refugees. We get a Canadian green light.
Does she not understand your Supreme Court ruling?
We want that refugee kit and none of her grueling.

Your government loves all us multicultural types,
Have you not read all their propaganda hypes?
I was thinking I’ll open a nice print shop,
For documents and papers for whoever might stop."

But Bin" I said. "The Americans are right pissed off."
Just because you’re here, is no reason they’ll back off."
"They can’t do that to me," he said, and raised a big long finger,
"I’ll sneak around in certain parts of town and they wont know where I linger."


Isolated in Ottawa

by

James Bredin


Parliamentary democracy in Canada is an illusion,
Because the leaders lurk in Ottawa isolated in seclusion,
Though Parliament only sits about three months a year,
They seldom answer questions in an ongoing career.

Chretien rules by edict from within that cloistered place,
Appointing judges and senators and no questions ‘bout disgrace.
Definitely no questions to the high court appointees,
Before they wear their bright red coats or show any expertise.

And then this group changed the laws fifty eight times.
By what they read in Chretien’s Charter - not about the crime.
They allowed the homosexuals and the kiddy porn crowd,
And Indians fishing out of season to behave quite proud.

And parliamentary democracy did not change these laws,
But a group dressed up like Santa Clause to socialist applause,
In far-away Ottawa where they lived their shrouded lives,
No questions before or after and hope Canada survives.

And Canadians have been trained not to ask questions,
‘Bout money to Shawinigan or to even make suggestions.
‘Cause these Liberals will go out and buy another election.
With billions in the right place, they got from tax collection.


Politically Correct Police

by

James Bredin

It was a fight at the Texas Tavern and they never are well planned,
‘Bout a soccer game that the Serbs had played in some far and distant land,
No one knew who won the game but everyone got excited,
And the waitress kicked the fighters out and the onlookers laughed delighted.

And the punching and the spitting and the gouging and the blood,
Continued outside screaming and the shouting right down in the mud.
And sometime ‘mid this raucous the waitress called the police,
And the distant siren said it all but the fighting did not cease.

Even when the cop car came and drove right up beside the fight,
The clamor continued amid the blare of the flashing red light.
They swore in several languages and pushed and shoved some more,
And paid no attention as their clothes got ripped and tore.

The policeman was a woman - and small and slight for a cop,
But the gutsy old girl she screamed and told them all to stop.
She was no doubt politically correct but she certainly didn’t fit,
Where screaming drunken excited men just couldn’t give a shit.

She looked like someone’s granny and then she screamed again.
The crowd clamored intensely now, thought this scene insane.
Then someone lifted the policewoman on top of her police car,
Out of harms way up above the fray with a flashing light outside the bar.

Then the fighters all disbanded and went their merry way
While the policewoman on the car roof looked on in disarray.
The crowd now came to help her as she slowly slid down the back,
They were sympathetic but she looked like a little old sad sack.

Her pride was hurt as she asked them all if they knew who had used force,
They shook their heads in sad reply showing their remorse.
And the waitress said she knew them but as just a bunch of Serbs,
Who were soccer mad and very sad that she threw them out on the curb.

There’s a lesson here that I greatly fear could get lost like a lone star.
It’s not the soccer or the Serbs or the waitress or the bar.
It’s the feminist flocks that fix what is not politically correct,
They object and direct, employ and select until the police are wrecked.

The real world doesn’t matter to them ‘cause they have their special cause.
Their vested interests, their secret agenda that has changed the employment laws.
They have turned the police into social workers where everyone is equal.
And little old ladies of ninety-two should have no problems with the sequel.


The Canadian Loonie

by

James Bredin

Those bankers who know it all have voiced their concern,
‘cause the loonie is headed downward never to return.
Canadian companies are on the block by the score,
For those with real dollars and lots of esprit de corps.

Liberals have admitted that there’s nothing they can do,
As the loonie lunges downward, now at sixty-two.
They also refuse to pay down the national debt.
Six hundred billion dollars is a true and terrible threat.

But they do have their social programs in places far away,
Their Third World comrades are all waiting for their pay.
And CIDA pays the money to keep them all afloat,
Why think about the loonie when the Liberals have the vote.

And Canadians are not told they’re in it up to here,
Liberal propaganda says everything is clear,
As the country is being swallowed up in this global affair,
Soon enough we’ll come under the economic glare.

‘Cause socialist in Ottawa have international dedication,
And only look for refugees and Third World admiration.
Their tax and spend policies are their main concern.
Forget about the loonie but don’t forget your tax return.


Canadian dollar on the way down

by

James Bredin

There was a time when Canadians felt proud about their dollar.
Twenty-five years ago it felt good and Canadians could holler,
But slowly the Canadian dollar lost one or two cents a year,
And the tax-and-spend politicians said nothing to fear.
We shouldn’t feel humiliated; the low value was good luck,
And it didn’t matter if the loonie would soon be half a buck.

They said it was good for tourists coming here to spend their money,
But Canadian in Florida didn’t think this was very funny,
And the Liberals just forgot about paying down the national debt,
As they doubled their pay and took everything they could get,
As they traveled the Third World free fervent and first class,
And the pages of the Access Act hid all their moves and fast.

We can afford to be big spenders the Ottawa crowd say,
Give a billion, loose a billion; it’s neither here nor there.
We have certain commitments and our intentions are all good,
Only red necks and right-wingers have never understood.
We have to feed the hungry in far and distant lands,
And allow terrorists and refugees in especially Taliban.

Canadians will just have to forget all their pompous pride,
‘Cause we’re going to take the bank for one hell of a ride,
And when the loonie value is equal to a US dime,
The RCMP and the ethics guy will back us every time.
‘Cause the Charter said "everyone" and their votes are secure,
And then we buy an election by sending millions to our poor.


Politically Correct Country

by

James Bredin


Canadians are now in the grip of the politically correct.
It’s about the Liberals who neither respect nor disrespect,
But are quick to point the finger of disgrace in your face,
If you’re a white male Canadian that they can easily replace.

They do it all with questionnaires promoting diversity,
To justify employment quotas at work or university,
And weed out homophobic or any redneck tendency,
And guide everyone towards government dependency.

Because in their books everyone has an attractive feature,
The pedophile, the prisoner, the criminal and the preacher,
The terrorist, the refugee and every multicultural kind,
It only matters if they vote -- not if Canada is undermined.

That’s why the altered rules that gave prisoners the vote,
And refused a DNA book, their policies they could promote,
They are not interested in helping or promoting law and order,
But in helping all the refugees at airports or the border.

They promote their Charter as the best thing since sliced bread,
And appoint High Court friends without question or dread,
And never, absolutely never use the "notwithstanding" clause,
And push their daily propaganda without a single pause.


Canada - US Amalgamation

by

James Bredin

There is nothing stronger than an idea whose time has come.
Nor anything weaker than tax-and-spend politicians having fun.
These are the reasons why Canada and the US should integrate,
Before the Canadian dollar becomes a dime and we start to disintegrate.
We still have time while we gag on their steady propaganda,
These silver spoon socialists scream sovereignty and sip on the veranda,
Or call us rednecks or racists from their cell phones in their villa.
We are bound to Queen and Charlie and even Camilla.

They’d like us to forget that six hundred billion national debt,
Six times Argentina’s and they’re not finished rioting yet.
It burns up one third of all our taxes just to pay the interest,
Nothing off the principal as it climbs with their disinterest.
Nor have we finished hearing ‘bout Shawinigan in Quebec,
Nor their conflict of interest when we were right up to our neck,
‘cause they can buy an election when they get the opportunity,
And the RCMP and the ethics guy make sure they have immunity.

No politician is allowed to think an independent thought,
They are bound to party politics and their votes have been bought,
There are no term limits so they repeat without strife,
Like the judges and the senators appointed for life.
No questions asked about vested interest or even lobby groups,
‘cause appointees are perfect like our helicopters and our troops,
Though majority politicians only represent one in four,
Forty percent of the sixty percent who voted and they score.

Canadians are not allowed to vote for their prime minister.
He is chosen by his friends which maybe good or quite sinister.
But Americans are open and get to vote for their president,
While Canadians are presented with a prime minister in residence,
And then he appoints his friends to be senators and judges,
Or governor general with a husband not allowed to show grudges,
But never alter the Charter or let Canada change,
Or amalgamate with the US despite the currency exchange.


Canadian National Parole Board

by

James Bredin

The Parole Board people I’m sure are precise nice and bright.
It’s a pleasant appointment for those connected and polite.
Their secrets and the reasons for their decisions are well kept,
Concealed and unseen under the carpet where they’re cautiously swept.
After all they are allowing criminals to walk free among folk,
After a third of their sentence to murder, rob, steal or choke,
Or maybe rape, shoot a policeman or rob a bank or two,
Or a precise pedophile, near a school to pounce on a child and subdue.

And those who killed their neighbors and escaped the hangman’s paws,
They’ll let out in fifteen years because of the "faint hope" clause,
That our politically correct politicians wrote into the criminal code,
In their rush to push their policies, this on Canadians they bestowed.
Even though their statistics show, half these criminals will return,
For violating parole ‘cause it’s not their fault, it’s parole board concern.
And everyone is functioning within this madhouse administration,
Overseen by politicians, the members and the prisoners who all make a donation.

Combine these lenient sentences and the easy early release,
That increase the danger for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,
But don’t ever point the finger, that the system might be bent,
Or tell the parole board and politicians, it’s time to relent.
‘Cause they’ll point a finger back, call you racist or redneck,
Or member of the vast right wing conspiracy from below decks.
While they’re busy counting refugees and culling immigrant votes,
And those released from prison are busy cutting peoples’ throats.


Canadians Are Well Trained

by

James Bredin

The Canadian dollar didn’t drop to sixty-two cents overnight,
And the so-called floating loonie is still sinking out of sight.
It was a gradual process of humiliation and recognition,
Of national degradation and acceptance by submission.

A training process in approval from step A to step B,
And after a respectable period a descent to level C,
A slow gradual training process all the way down,
By tax-and-spend politicians who maybe fool around.

But they cover their tracks as they tax and give some more,
Call their appointed friends to back them to the core,
Loose a billion, give a billion, does anyone even care?
Canadians have been trained, they wouldn’t even dare.

And so the dollar drops another step down to level D,
The humiliation continues among Canadian bourgeoisie,
And those who even protest are not considered patriotic,
Indeed they should be checked for an illegal narcotic.

There was no public outcry, no recall -- nothing problematical,
No dispute or dissent as politicians became fanatical.
Their confidence in their system just grew and grew and grew,
And eventually the loonie slid down to sixty-two.

Good for tourists they said, therefore better down at thirty,
Canadians will accept it; they never protest - that might be down and dirty,
The pattern will persist progressively one step at a time.
You wont even notice it - as smooth and slick as slime.

They avoid responsibility, blame those currency speculators,
Or those right wing conspirators and other manipulators,
And push their propaganda about insignificant events,
They’ll forget in a few days; it only dropped a few cents,

Are we compelled to stay the course all the way down to zero?
Is there a musical politician out there called Mr. Nero?
What will we get when the dollar drops down to a dime?
Would we celebrate because the previous day it was 9.9?

And when they control almost every paper in the land,
And their bureaucracy and programs expand and expand,
And tax and spend till Canadians are not free until September,
So the dollar sinks and the taxes rise and Canadians can’t remember.

I cannot tell you how to counteract this terrible situation,
For fear you might be a member of the Canadian congregation.
Therefore you have been trained and no need for you to care,
Though your dollar is still diving and you may not be aware.


Appointment to the Canadian Supreme Court

by

James Bredin

Where does she come from; somewhere over there;
Near the pizzeria at Dufferin and St Clair.
They say she knows English or maybe it is French,
And now she’s been appointed to the Supreme Court Bench.

She took a course at night school two years ago today,
She’s politically correct in every single way.
She has a hidden agenda and belongs to certain groups.
These multicultural activists types have several known kooks.

And now dear sir, your questions; they’re causing certain strife.
She’s a single mother with connections and her appointment is for life.
That’s all you’re allowed to know and that law’s written down,
And soon she’ll be wearing that red and white gown.

What do you mean, she doesn’t stand for anything at all?
She has a paper from night school hanging on her wall.
How much does it take to decide a Charter case?
A red gown and a stool and a scowl on your face.

She’s at home right now reading the Charter.
She says it covers everyone - terrorists or martyrs,
Her appointment is final; Canadians if you please,
Continue being submissive or she’ll look down on you as sleaze.


Belinda from Biloxi

by

James Bredin


I saw Belinda from Biloxi three or four seats ahead,
With her red hair still piled high on top of her head,
As the subway shuddered onward she seemed so much at ease,
And just like twenty years ago she always showed her knees.

Her skin was fair and freckled and she had that haughty air,
Of someone who caught a millionaire and was barely aware,
Of the guys who kept glancing over in her direction,
Some who looked stupid glaring at her perfection.

Of course she didn’t recognized me; I had grown old.
As I tried to remember and let my memory banks unfold,
To the first time that I met her when she casually did admit,
That her husband was in jail for doing a mafia hit.

She said she was an American and only here for a while,
I could tell by her accent, she had lots of Southern style,
Though she left me mesmerized, I still had to pretend,
I wasn’t tempted by her charms; I had business to attend.

I wrote my police report, which I immediately did ignore,
But I sure remember Belinda and everything that she wore,
And then I found that half the division knew her by name,
And each lowered his voice and whispered as in shame.

The next time that I saw Belinda, into court she did walk.
She sat right before the judge with those legs that could talk.
And then her probation officer; it was obviously prearranged,
Gave evidence for an hour ‘bout how she had changed.

And then the judge let her walk and watched her as she left,
Can’t remember the charge; was it prostitution or theft?
We all looked disappointed as she walked out the door,
As if someone should run after her; invite her back for more.

The next time that I saw her, it was quite a surprise,
She was living in welfare housing with the cockroaches and the flies,
She was pushing a baby carriage and seemed so domesticated,
Good I thought she met a man and now she’s dedicated.

Monique was her daughter’s name and I watched them through the years,
You could never forget Belinda whenever she appears,
Her little girl grew up beside her and she had the same physique,
Is that little girl four rows ahead Belinda or Monique?


HOW TO FIX CANADA

by

James Bredin


The refugees of the world are lined up and now coming here
And Chretien’s Charter says they’re in without questions or fear
That’s the PM from Shawinigan who decided to stay in again
He may stay for life and without term limits -- to our chagrin again

It’s obvious to Canadians that they need changes big time
A new constitution for all Canadians - not refugees in line
Where Western Canadians get a proportional share of power
Of representation in Ottawa instead of always feeling sour

A conference should be held in a small town out west
No lobby groups or influence or welfare as the test
No special rights for provinces or people should be expected
Where aboriginals are Canadian and property rights accepted

And Canadians could sell their property to anyone they please
Have binding referendums without political expertise
And a triple E Senate and questioned Supreme Court appointees
And recall of politicians by constituent conferees

And all Canadians, like Australians, should be required to vote
Rather than some of the people with a special interest to promote
And the prime minister should be elected by the entire nation
Instead of his party friends lined up in formation

And immigration, as in Quebec, should be a provincial matter
Nearer to the people who have to endure the strange chatter
The Charter should be abandoned which Quebec refused to sign
And Supreme Court decisions should have to realign

The provinces should be the entity to collect every tax
And the national government in Ottawa should sit back and relax
And the RCMP should be told ‘bout conflict of interest administration
Where millions to Shawinigan is an arrestable situation

And the twenty-one investigations ‘bout the HRDC billions
All missing in the paperwork; what’s a million, blame the civilians
And no questions can be asked; maybe hidden by the Access Act
And the road to his cottage; another RCMP righteous tract

And the six hundred billion national debt strung around our necks
Six times what Argentina had and they rioted in protest
And the interest gobbles up one third of every tax we pay
Nothing off the principal - that’s left for another day.

Every election should be by an appointed date
Instead of when he feels the heat -- to avoid debate
The amending formula should be much more elementary
Three provinces or one third of the people for an entry

And here you thought Canada had very few problems to solve
And we had years and years to wait for changes to evolve
If we wait that long our dollar will be worth at least a dime
Can you see the shame and humiliation here; can you see the crime?


Other people who write poetry

by

James Bredin

I read a poem once and I read instructions how to do it,
Of course I nearly gagged, like you, and said, "Screw it."
What is excellent in poetry does not catch this sailor’s eye,
Should examine my conscience see where I went awry.

Just because they write fancy words that do not rhyme,
A university title and an obligation to waste your time,
These pompous so-called poets should be shut down,
Write love, laughter, life and death and not their own renown.


Divorce

by

James Bredin

One of the more drastic words in the dictionary is "divorce,"
Where half the weddings in this world go the course.
It is a symbol of failure and a complete lack of love,
Where letters from lawyers go hand and glove,
Where some children and parents are hurt to the core,
And the frivolity of the foolish is hard to ignore,
Where lives are shattered while lawyers get fit,
From financial statements and property split.

There is no advice, no remedy or cure,
It’s the luck of the draw could leave you right poor,
And those who think they don’t have to adapt,
Could be shocked by reality and what they accept,
Therefore step lightly and hope that you’re lucky,
To avoid a divorce that is yucky and mucky,
Or a spouse that is sure to leave you in shock,
While your faith in humanity turns into a crock.


Canadian Pandora's Box

by

James Bredin

So you think you’re good because you just got a raise in pay,
But the value of the $C dollar dropped down another cent today,
So calculate and you will find your take-home pay went down,
But no one told you not to go and celebrate on the town.

The Canadian economy runs on these hidden wage cuts,
Which breeds low productivity and politicians without guts,
With our standard of living going down just like the value of our dollar,
When it dives to a dime, we will celebrate in squalor.

And the union guy told you how to vote and what to think,
It’s solidarity, the status quo, pay raises, the $C dollar and a wink,
We’ve got multiculturalism, bilingualism and equalization to Quebec,
Missing billions and Shawinigan in this multicultural wreck.

We can all celebrate the CBC and propaganda by the hour,
Soft power and send billions to every Third World power,
And Minister of This and Minister of That visiting all those places,
But not enough sailor or soldiers to man the ships or the bases.

But never mind the $C dollar may rise again they say,
Sometime between now and the long awaited judgment day,
It’s "purchasing power parity" they claim, a phrase they thought up,
Their opportunity to confuse and use their own measuring cup.

And the Access Act hides where they go and what they do,
With eight pages of forbidden stuff that’s completely hidden from view,
And the parliamentary TV pantomime only shows who is talking,
Not the hundreds of empty seats of those traveling or those walking.


Stockwell Day

by

James Bredin

Hey Stockwell, I voted for you and for all of that,
And I was glad when you had your kick at the cat,
But somewhere along the way you lost,
When members and policies all got tossed.

I too suffer and feel the pain of your humiliation,
The sting of the proverbial whip and Liberal domination,
When we keenly observed the Shawinigan capers,
Got embittered by the RCMP and the Ethics guy fakers.

All sins are forgiven when they buy elections,
With taxpayers’ money to special selections
No crime, no punishment for all the missing billions
Under the carpet by HRDC civilians

The Canadian dream has gone up in smoke,
And you Stockwell, a political joke,
Not quite as bad as Joe Clark that’s true
In that queer Calgary parade; who knew?

But somehow Stockwell you’re still around
Haven’t got the message, haven’t heard the sound
Didn’t ask the right questions to that socialist crew
Jean and Hedy, Elinor and Marie and Sheila too


Canadian Politically Correct Media

by

James Bredin

Most Canadian journalists know what their employer allows,
They are watched and warned about these certain sacred cows,
Say good things about friends and socialist in certain high places,
Or they’ll be replaced at the desk by new and obedient faces.

In this privilege of employment, self-censorship cannot be spoken,
Or find themselves out, unemployed, homeless and maybe even broken.
Just pump out the propaganda that we’ve got that free press,
With feel-good expressions; no need to digress ’bout currency distress.

And the people in Ottawa all love this self-censured attitude,
And they think up a hundred hidden ways to show their gratitude.
The sacred cows of the Charter must remain intact,
And incoming refugees arrive ‘til Canada is packed.

And all those prisoners; they have rights and need to vote,
No national DNA book for them and don’t know one promote,
Why change the constitution because everything is fair,
No proportional representation; no need to despair.

Canadians don’t need to vote for their prime minister,
‘Cause he is chosen by his party friends - nothing sinister.
And the date that we’ll vote will be chosen by him,
It means no voting by date or going out on a limb.

What if those people out West are never represented?
It’s multiculturalism and bilingualism should be augmented.
They should learn how to vote and they’d feel better inside.
Listen to CBC and no right wing jekyll and hyde.


Seniors' Building

by

James Bredin

I delivered the petite package to Poundstone Manor,
Signature from the receptionist on my delivery scanner,
And I looked around going out the front door,
At the pictures and the benches and the fancy décor,
I saw all these old girls just sitting and waiting,
No talk, no gossip, no laughter and some even shaking.

None of them seemed interested in talking,
Lost in their memories of when they went walking,
It was only an instant and it all looked quite sad,
But the saddest of all was no men to be had.
Where were the old men who had courted these girls?
When their hair was long and not short and in curls?


Polygamy and Ben Laden

by

James Bredin

Poor Ben Leyden has his polygamy problems

Polygamy is forbidden by both the church and the state,
A man can go to jail for having two wives to procreate.
It’s listed in the criminal code as a statutory offense,
So don’t get any notions ‘cause this issue is immense.
I doubt that these relationships run as smooth as silk.
Personalities of three wives of completely different ilk,
Could indeed be a heaven but more likely a hell,
And to feed and house all these folk you need a big hotel.

Career women and the feminists could do their own thing,
Babysitting problems by the wife in the west wing,
And they could all support each other like a communist group,
But this type of organization has been proven full of poop,
So I pity poor Ben Leyden with all those nagging wives,
And twenty kids all hiding wondering who survives,
Add in Afghanistan, without a shave and living in a cave,
And a few daisy cutter bombs might make a man behave.


PREJUDICED

by

James Bredin


I see them every day as they try to stroll the mall,
Some of them are small but others are quite tall,
They wear large baggy pants four sizes too big,
And walk the slow gait of an overfed pig.
Droopy drawers down around their ankles,
Hobbled like a prisoner unaware that it rankles.

Are they looking for attention or just being dumb?
Is this their attitude or and should we all succumb?
Is it a symptom, they are stupid or just in disgrace?
Or is this intimidation straight in my face?
Should I tip my hand and show them that I even care?
Show myself a redneck and an absolute square?

I don’t think I’ll do that, not just quite yet,
I’ll wait for an opportunity but I’ll never forget,
I’ll be politically correct and polite like all the rest,
And conceal the mind-set that I’m not at all impressed,
A narrow-minded politician might point a big fat finger,
Call me bigot or prejudiced and let the stigma linger.


The old men at the Cedarbrea Plaza

by

James Bredin

There’s something going on at the Cedarbrae Center.
I want to join in and not be a dissenter.
There’s a group of old men who are really excited,
I’m the same age; I’m concerned, but I’m never invited.
They speak a strange language from far far away,
Smoking with gestures excited as they push to convey.

Are they Greeks, Italians, Turks, Jews or Serbs,
Discussing with twisted vowels and tarnished verbs?
A plot, a plan, a revolution, a war or a riot?
Whatever it is; it’s not being done on the quiet.
What lives did they live what things did they see?
To cause such excitement to the highest degree?

There’s one who stands smart and struts his stuff,
Waves his hands in gestures like he’s had enough.
There’s a tall one who leans to catch every word,
And a small one straight from theater of the absurd.
There’s one who seems to whisper, not to be heard,
And another who looks like a proper little nerd.

What could it be, they’re so excited about?
They’ve been plotting for years, day in and day out.
There’s nothing that exciting happens around here.
No war no riots no revolution and nothing to fear.
I think I’ll sit down and watch from a distance,
In case something happens and they need my assistance.


OTTAWA

by

James Bredin

Ottawa is in northern Ontario, completely disconnected,
A place where politicians go and act like they’ve defected,
"They become instant nobodies," as Trudeau once said,
‘Cause if they don’t and vote as told they may as well be dead.
That’s why Canadian politics is locked in the status quo,
No recall, term limits or referendums, per Trudeau.

That’s why Chretien has stayed there all his adult life,
No changes, no disagreements, no improvements, no strife,
He even wrote the Charter, therefore nothing’s rearranged,
Unless seven provinces with half the people agree to the change,
And "everyone" in the world, terrorists included,
Can claim Charter rights in Canada and never be excluded.

This is the same status quo we’re stuck with day and night,
Since George the General and George the King had an awful fight,
We don’t elect our senators; they’re appointed there for life,
Or question appointed judges ‘bout their interests and past strife,
Canadians accept this dictatorship from up near the northern lights.
Strapped to autopilot, seething in silence at their subservient strife.


January 16th, 2002, in Canada

by

James Bredin

Today we got their message in big bold print,
‘Bout beaming politicians - some came and some went.
Photographs of the celebrants all front and center,
Promoted to cabinet posts by their mere mentor.
And Chretien stood in the snow and will stay for life.
Without Canadian term limits there’s no political strife.
Celebrate, write the date ‘cause everything is great.
Accept the hype, he’s here for life, we’re such a lucky state!

But don’t tell anyone ‘bout the rate of exchange,
That sixty-two cent dollar may seem very strange,
And don’t tell anyone ‘bout referenda,
It might interfere with their socialist agenda.
Forget the six hundred billion dollar national debt,
When flying ‘round the world on a Team Canada jet,
Forget the senators and the supreme court judges,
Appointed for life without questions but nudges.


PRIME MINISTER FOR LIFE

by

James Bredin

Our prime minister for life, eternal leader of our community,
Acted with impunity, RCMP immunity and at every opportunity,
He did it in Shawinigan and got his ethics guy support,
Taxpayers’ millions to needy friends and they never went to court.
And admitted all in an election call but had pre procured his protection,
Their appointed positions depended on him but no one made the connection,
And then got reelected to a third term ‘cause he can repeat for life,
Without term limits, he can do it again forever without strife.

And now he’s free to tax and spend as socialists love to do,
But the dollar dived and dived again and he doesn’t have a clue,
He was not elected prime minister by the Canadian masses,
But a conspiracy of his friends -- just Liberals who had passes,
This is an old system that Canadians failed to rearrange,
Left by imperialists to ensure that nothing would ever change.
‘Bout the status quo, George the King and George the General fought,
Freedom of this and freedom of that - not refugees in distraught.

This is the man who with Trudeau, sat down and wrote the Charter,
Wrote it for "everyone" in the world - a Canadian disaster.
Where Indians are not Canadian and no one has property rights,
And laws are changed sixty times by appointed High Court types,
Who themselves are never questioned ‘bout their hidden concerns,
Secrets banned and forbidden from which the public could discern,
Where refugees pass with the terrorist class -- might even be a million,
These numbers lost and what it cost - could even be a zillion.

And Canadians are not allowed proportional representation,
‘cause this would put the Liberals in a minority situation,
No need for referendums or the recall of Liberal politicians,
Disregard those depositions ‘bout crooked acquisitions,
What if the Access Act hides their vast global movements?
To tax and spend, make no amends and very few improvements,
Never pay down the national debt; what if it’s six hundred billion?
What if the dollar is fifty cents; go give or spend a million.

It’s top-down decisions - Liberals obey or they are banned.
It’s party discipline with their votes regardless where they stand.
The shenanigans in Shawinigan may continue on forever,
And those twenty two police investigations - under the rug whichever,
And Canadians have been trained by their socialist propaganda,
Produced daily in their papers with vast amounts of memoranda,
Their illusion of democracy and their contempt for this nation.
As the dollar dives towards a dime should be the subject of conversation.


Why the Canadian Dollar Drops

by

James Bredin

The tax-and-spend politicians caused our dollar to drop,
Though they deny that they are hooked or they cannot stop.
They tax and spend for all their friends in Quebec and Shawinigan,
Call it grants equalization, loans; now they’re all back in again,
Call it impunity with immunity as they repeat every opportunity,
For bilingual friends with multicultural trends in their Liberal community.

And when the dollar drops to a dime they’ll all go out and celebrate,
When the national debt gets to a trillion, they want us to congratulate,
They’ve not read ‘bout referendums ‘cause that’s not in their Charter,
And when our dollar‘s worth a dime we can all revert to barter.
They’re there for life; no recall, term limits or restrictions,
And the Access Act hides it all; no fuss or criminal convictions.
It’s the system that’s all wrong and we’re stuck in status quo,
We need proportional representation or we’ll get useless dough.


Canadian left wing Charter

by

James Bredin

The philosophy of Might Makes Right is an Ottawa thing,
They love to flex their fixation with the far left wing,
They’re going to cure unemployment and give us all jobs,
Jobs, for everyone especially the slobs in the mobs,
And call them all civil servants, hire them by the ton,
Start a program, register guns, and leave nothing undone.

The billion-dollar cost means nothing when you’re right,
They learned it all from Trudeau their bright guiding light,
Who visited the Soviets and then wrote the Charter,
With no property rights and believed he was a martyr,
Got the queen to sign it and started judge-made law,
Judicial dictatorship with a built-in democratic flaw.

Changed laws sixty times with Supreme Court might,
Liberals nodded in unison as though everything was right,
Secretly selected judges, never questioned, appointed for life,
Don’t ever change the Charter no matter how much strife,
With pious propaganda pumped out from their CBC machine,
Claiming right wing conspiracy types are all obscene.


George W Bush

by

James Bredin

I think I like George W Bush
Like I like listening to that big guy Rush
My politics and I are simple enough
On September 11th it all turned rough
We needed someone to point the way
To get these terrorist hidden away

Then George himself came on TV
To address the Congress and you and me
Told us ‘bout these terrorist types
They needed to be put behind the pipes
Hiding over in Afghanistan
In caves and rocks and called Taliban

A long way away in a dangerous place
Hidden under rocks in their al quadra base
Came on TV, didn’t stutter or mutter
Till someone dropped a daisy cutter
And then it all stopped and Osama left
And no one felt in the least bereft

Where could he have gone with those four wives
Did any escape with their sordid lives?
Osama’s long beard is getting quite gray
They’re waiting for him at Guantanimo Bay
And among all this mayhem George had the guts
To give the Americans big tax cuts


Liberal Politicians

by

James Bredin

There’s no one half as happy as a Liberal politician
With a new rendition of social policies ready for submission
Dozens of departments to be touted for these pointless new projects
And programs worth billions for those gun owning subjects

Money is no object when you’re a Liberal politician
Go to a foreign mission, the Senate or a commission
Even if the dollar slides downward towards a dime
Don’t be bothered ‘bout the reason ‘cause everything is fine

The most traveled people in the world are Liberal politicians
Checking CIDA commissions in various tropical positions
And these vast itineraries are hidden by the Access Act
Therefore Canadians know nothing and cannot react

Those who tax and spend in Ottawa are Liberal politicians
Canadians like the dollar trapped in the downward transitions
Like an elevator heading downward all the way to hell
While the Liberals looking skyward say everything is swell


Canadian Dollarization

by

James Bredin

It’s been thirty years since Canadians felt proud,
And now that pride seems dressed in a shroud,
The dollar at sixty, soon to be a dime,
A slow steady downward decent all the time,
This dreadful death brought by politicians,
Who behave as though they were rock musicians,
As they tax and spend and travel the world,
As though the national debt had never occurred.

Is there a point where Canadians will react?
Or is everything hidden by the Access Act?
Are we locked in dictatorship all the way down?
And follow the rand as they did in Cape town,
Dropped to nine point eight to the dollar,
Getting very close to the dirt and the squalor,
Is Canadian faith in the Liberals so supreme?
Will we reach a point where someone will scream?

We have come to the stage for dollarization,
Before they teach us ‘bout Argentinean frustration,
And everyone is hired in the government collective,
Like socialist communist broke and defective,
And the unions all rule and solidarity is strong,
And the lineups are long and everything is wrong,
And we can blame everything on somebody else,
‘cause there is no pride; no pride in oneself.


Unemployment in Canada

by

James Bredin


The Liberals know what to do about that,
Treat unemployment like a rabbit in a hat,
Make it disappear as though nothing was there,
All an illusion so Canadians ask, "Where?"

Unemployed numbers will just disappear,
And Liberals of course are always sincere,
Employ all those people, make them officials,
Man socialist programs and be beneficial.

Then the unemployment statistics will change,
And nothing will appear to be very strange,
Prime minister can stay in office forever,
No one will guess how devious and clever.

‘Cause without term limits he can stay for life,
Staying in Ottawa without any strife,
Except for one little small little thing;
Value of the dollar and the currency sting.

When the loonie is a dime will anyone care?
Canadians have been told not to compare,
Stay in the country and they’ll have no worry,
Listen to the CBC and enjoy a snow flurry.


Trudeau's Charter

by

James Bredin

Trudeau wrote the Charter for all humanity.
That’s everyone in the world - not just Christianity,
Thousands say they’re refugees, all coming here,
Bringing wives and children and then disappear,
And Canadians who read the Charter are just one or two,
And those who understand it are indeed very few,
Aboriginals are not Canadian and allowed special rights,
From old Indian treaties - no changes, no rewrites,
And Canadians have been told to be enthusiastic,
The Charter is not drastic -- it’s fantastic,
That Canadians should be denied rights to their possessions,
Even the UN Charter allowed these concessions.


My dog Mugs

by

James Bredin


We’ve got a Labrador dog called Mugs,
Who lacks for nothing even hugs,
She’s not even a real thoroughbred,
She’s a white spot on her chest instead,

The kind of dog who talks with her eyes,
Good enough to win a Nobel prize,
She’s always been hungry all her life,
Tries to sleep between me and my wife.

Sometimes she doesn’t make a lot of sense,
Loves to bark at that dog behind the fence,
Wags her tail when she thinks she’s great,
Lifts her ears as if to start a debate,

She’s been eight years around this place,
And like me she’s getting gray in the face,
But I hope she’s around for many more,
‘cause she adds greatly to our esprit de corps.


Canadians are not allowed to think

by

James Bredin

Canadians are seldom allowed to think,
It’s Liberal propaganda in layers and a wink,
Their ominous control of news and the media,
Is denied with every phrase in the encyclopedia,
Can’t stop refugees and terrorist arrivals,
It’s just that those loud mouth political rivals,
Know how the refugees will eventually vote,
In three years time though they’re strange and remote.

‘Cause multiculturalism is the unspoken contract,
Locked Liberal votes and everything is compact,
It’s the Liberal system of long-term survival,
Refugees claim their Charter rights on arrival,
It’s a big industry full of wall-to-wall lawyers,
Liberals and government their indirect employers,
And Chretien himself, he wrote the Charter,
Back in the days of President Jimmy Carter.

No currency combination, no dollarization or vote,
If it’s not Liberal policy; they will not promote,
No referendums or recall; they call it hypocrisy,
No recall of politicians in their vast bureaucracy,
No term limits; they’ll rule Canada for life,
Like a marriage made in hell to a domineering wife,
And the dollar dives down while the Access Act,
Hides Liberal movements and all their tracks.


The Access to Information Act

by

James Bredin


These plundering politicians will leave the country broke,
With a dollar worth a dime which the Access Act will cloak,
No referendums for the masses and no term limit checks.
No recall of politicians hidden right up to their necks.

How many illegal refugees did Canada accept today?
Were there terrorists among them and where did they stay?
Did they say they knew Osama; did they have wires from their boots?
Were they wearing pajamas or were some of them wearing suits?

Did the Access Act hide these facts in their vast bureaucracy?
Were these shrouded secrets too hidden in hypocrisy?
Will there ever come a time when Canadians will be allowed,
To see what’s concealed behind that Access Act cloud?

The Access Act has been here since Chretien wrote the Charter,
Him and Trudeau wrote in the days of President Jimmy Carter,
They wrote the Act to fog the facts and then go tax and spend,
Canadian taxpayers’ money that increased socialist trends.

Though Canada had that six hundred billion dollar debt,
It didn’t matter to socialists with a Team Canada jet.
A billion here, a billion there, it’s only taxpayers’ money,
And the Access Act hid the fact and that’s not very funny.

‘Cause CBC propaganda is a powerful potent brew,
Promote and push the path away from subjects that are taboo,
Powerful political rhetoric emphasize democracy,
Away from data that is buried deep in their bureaucracy.

And twenty years later they conceal their junket journeys,
Secret itineraries forbidden by the Access Act attorneys,
The arrogance of these Liberals who cannot be recalled,
Hiding behind the Access Act since it was installed.


Why Canadian Dictatorship?

by

James Bredin

Canadians have never been allowed to change government organization,
Since George the General and George the King fought about cessation,
And Canadians are forbidden referendums or political call back.
The Feds just want the status quo or they’ll go into political attack,
Pay down the debt, they haven’t yet and dollarization they begrudge.
Canadians can’t make an election date or elect a senator or a judge,
Francophonie French programs and feminism are all the federal way,
They boast ‘bout multiculturalism and the money they give away.

They like the UN and their communist international bias,
And the Access Act hides everything, so they act downright pious,
Their itineraries have been fogged in hypocrisy and bureaucracy,
Hidden like proportional representation behind the firewall of autocracy,
But don’t ever try to find out where they’re going or where they’ve been,
Trekking through the Third World or who knows, visiting their kin,
I’ll never understand why they type of dictatorship survives,
Common sense says that the system should be dead and not thrive.


Lesbians

by

James Bredin


I’ve met the odd lesbian down through the years,
And you will too so there’s no need for fears,
I think I met one or two that were nice,
Hard to tell if they’re involved in that vice.

‘Cause they never come out and tell you the truth,
They don’t come dressed in uniform or suit.
You only worry when they become a boss,
You’re being interviewed which could be a loss.

They usually know the type of person you are,
Complacent or inclined towards feathers and tar,
It depends on your face or if you wear fancy laces,
They can tell what you’re like at fifty paces.

There’s no way of telling what’s inside their heads,
‘cause they’re usually efficient and very well read,
Remember these words when sitting on the chair,
And the interview is going, you don’t know where.

Smile


An Inn in Shawinigan

by

James Bredin

The Grand Mere Inn is in Shawinigan,
Received a large loan and was in again,
From the government bank no need to inquire,
Was everything clear or did someone conspire?

Mounties and the ethics guy nodded their heads,
You can’t inquire ‘cause they work for the feds,
It’s only taxpayers’ money anyone can see,
No conspiracy here ‘cause they all agree.

There are still a few questions up in the air,
Despite their agreement ‘bout the Inn at Grand Mere,
They say there’s a forgery flying around,
They’ve pointed that out so everything’s sound.

It sounds like a tale from a two-bit novel,
Those who inquire get down and grovel,
Managers and accountants finished and met,
Water under the bridge and no one got wet.


Commission to save all refugees in the world

by

James Bredin

A Liberal politician thought she’d form a commission,
And she’d gain recognition for her socialist ambition,
She’d finally make a stand and get it all prearranged,
Say nothing to the taxpayers or those others deranged,
A spontaneous crusade for parliamentary parade,
In line with the Charter and just what they’d prayed,
She could rush to relocate all refugees on the globe,
Travel first class just to prod and to probe.

The lefties and the loonies would all stand and cheer,
In the political sphere this would improve her career,
And what if a terrorist or two might slip past,
It’s Liberal good intentions that can’t be surpassed,
It’s the Charter of Rights that has saved the nation,
And besides that she needs a nice foreign vacation,
And everything will be so politically correct,
The Americans can nod and just show more respect.

The Access Act will hide those along for the ride,
Eight pages of secrets they need not confide,
‘Cause the Charter is sacred or haven’t you heard?
Though Quebec didn’t sign it, not even one word,
And when those refugees claim refugee status,
Buildings of lawyers will join the apparatus,
And Canadians will cheer ‘cause it’s all so clear,
The Access Act and the Charter and nothing to fear.


What Canadian Politicians Do

by

James Bredin

A few Liberal politicians wrote the Firearms Act,
Not to stop criminals; that might have an impact,
But to employ more bureaucrats and gain more control,
As in the UN millennium management roll,
It’s a socialist, communist, Liberal sting,
Freedom is forgotten in their propaganda ring.

But criminals all along have been the favored few,
Their sentences ridiculous; they all get out on cue,
Guess who gave them the vote and gets it in return?
Liberal politicians and they have no concern.
Guess who refuse to initiate DNA files?
Of pedophiles in prison who continue their wiles?

Bury us with propaganda in the media,
Hidden in the Access Act encyclopedia,
Francophonie phrases ‘bout the national debt,
No need for proportional representation yet,
Bilingual lectors ready to kill freedom of choice,
With their parliamentary majority they rejoice.

Spread the word ‘bout refugees all coming here,
With Chretien’s Charter, they have nothing to fear,
As there is no callback for lazy politicians,
And no term limits in Liberal traditions,
Special treatment for very special groups,
But no new uniforms or guns for the troops.


Forbidden subjects in Canada

by

James Bredin

The Access Act hides the facts and where Liberals go,
It defies common sense that they don’t reap what they sow.
Despite their dishonesty and their shenanigans in Shawinigan,
Canadians who should know, keep electing them back in again.
Therefore Canadians will get exactly, just what they deserve,
And Indians claiming provinces for their personal reserve,
And refugees and terrorist claiming all their Charter rights,
In those midnight arrivals on all the incoming flights.

There’s money in multiculturalism tied up within the Charter,
For an illegal immigrant or refugee inclined to be a martyr,
And the immigration industry with lawyers without much fear,
Is waiting at the gates with great portfolios and a leer,
To defend these types with all their might they’ll go to any court,
All the way to the Supreme Court just to thwart terrorist transport,
At taxpayers’ expense of course these lawyers sit and wait.
Show contempt of this continent so no fanatics get the gate.

Proportional representation is a subject they want banned,
‘Cause the Liberals would be a minority by a line in the sand,
Though half the democracies in the world have this system now,
This dictatorships hasn’t heard of it ‘cause the Liberals wont allow,
I’ll not tell you any more because you might be inclined to talk,
Get yourself in trouble, pointed out as a right wing hawk,
But mention it in passing, whisper to your MP if you dare,
‘Cause she never heard it either - she’ll nod his head and stare.

Bilingualism is a monster with bureaucracy wall to wall,
Pushing French in provinces and places that never heard of it at all,
Not that French is bad, if you knew what they were saying,
You’re not bilingual; don’t know French but your income tax is paying,
Why can’t Canadians allow Quebec to keep all the French they’ve got,
Instead of pushing it everywhere whether we want it or not,
‘Cause referendums are another thing the Liberals wont allow,
A referendum on bilingualism might change everything right now.

Equalization welfare payments is another way to kiss up to Quebec,
‘Cause the separatists might start again and cause an awful stress,
So they’ll buy them off with billions added to the national debt,
But praise their balanced budget; no dollarization allowed yet.
But when the dollar slowly slides all the way down to a dime,
They’ll tell us to celebrate ‘cause it’s just up from nine point nine.
Liberals call an election whenever they please -- maybe five years,
It’s their decision; pile the propaganda as they hide their arrears.


Refugees for Canada

by

James Bredin

Trudeau forgot Canadians when they wrote the Charter for humanity.
After seeing the conceited Soviets with all their Socialist vanity
And now thousands of phony refugees are footing it over here,
On Air Canada flights every night to the Canadian frontier
See their free lawyers, truly a misnomer, and get their refugee kits
Information received on laptops in Canadian-immigration hits
Then they get translators and welfare and medicare and more
Free housing forever with no rogue refugee could ignore
And then they use their cells to phone home and pass the word
That here in Canada they are welcome -- nay truly preferred

And these rogue refugees with their many wives and kids
With leather luggage piled high on the many landing skids
Move to motels up and down and all along the Kingston Road
While they e-mail digital photos to their friends to download
And of course their friends are delighted and elated by the news
That Canadian immigration is so dumb and so easy to confuse
And they too call their many wives, kids, relatives and friends
And someone to drive them to the airport in the Mercedes Benz
But Canadian Immigration is bound by Chretien’s Charter
Written and can’t be changed since the days of Jimmy Carter.


GOD

by

James Bredin

God I’ve got to talk with you because I’m not sure you’re there.
Of course I’m sure you’re there, it’s just that I don’t know where.
All the religions have their own ideas about who and where you are.
They’ve fought battles for centuries and each claimed you as their star.
They’re absolutely sure and convinced that their system is right.
Their confidence is bewildering; they’re so intelligent and bright.
But I have a few questions because I believe your nature is sublime,
As I grow older God, I accept I will eventually run out of time.
No one yet has figured out how to get around your rule,
So could you cut me some slack, God, to reach a hundred and be cool?


Homeless

by

James Bredin

These homeless types are bold and bright even when they’re cold,
Some are seriously young and some are desperately old.
They’ve all developed a ruthless attitude to a dreadful degree,
Some are mentally disturbed and on this we could agree,
Their socialist friends love them and tell them they’re right,
They’re politically correct and full of sweetness and light,
It’s the workers who are the problem for not giving them money,
For these wretched bums for booze and drugs - not very funny.

These homeless types live every night in each doorway and alley,
They’re told to come and demand their rights at every political rally,
Their righteous friends at City Hall are all desperate for power,
And demand these flagrant vagrants types should be paid by the hour,
With money, welfare, social services, transit tickets and housing,
Proud ‘bout politically correct communist system they’re espousing,
They’re going to give the homeless all the rights they can barter,
For power, peace and good will ‘cause it’s written in the Charter.

And the Charter can’t be changed, written by Chretien and Trudeau,
Where the homeless have all the rights and there is no quid quo pro,
Where ordinary people can be bothered by every other vagrant,
On the road and on the street, deliberate, barefaced and flagrant,
And worried workers made to feel that they are being compelled,
To give their pay and power ‘cause the homeless can’t be quelled,
And the country is going down the sewer where all the vagrants live,
Like little communist, all together now, we’re equal and ready to forgive.


Ralph Klein and the Kyoto Agreement

by

James Bredin

Ralph Klein can see the handwriting written on the wall
He opposed Chretien by announcing the premiers’ call
‘Bout the Kyoto Agreement that will cost us millions
Added to the national debt, already six hundred billions
They’re opposing the Liberals and Canada’s single party rule
Of appointed senators and judges in the Liberal political school

Liberal left-wing politicians worked up ‘bout global warming
Though it’ll be expensive they bend over backward performing
Which would you prefer, nuclear fuel or ordinary oil and gas?
Or like Chernobyl where the people were only second-class
Nuked without referendums - the people could not decide
The Liberals love CANDU reactors which they will provide.

And global warming we are told is terribly awfully bad
And in ten thousand years things will be dreadfully sad
Things will warm up like down in Mississippi
The weather will be warm instead of cold and nippy
George Bush has decided not to go along with the agreement
Got Chretien all worked up and downright vehement


NAFTA and Currency

by

James Bredin

The history of Europe is filled with wars about borders
And kings and queens and political dictator disorders
But recently they concluded that history wasn’t funny
So they decided on union with identical money
And they called on Robert Mundell for currency advice
A Canadian Nobel Prize winner and very precise
They decided to call their currency the Euro
With twelve big economies in one little bureau

Mundell is shunned by NAFTA and Ottawa politicians
Locked in as they are to their status quo traditions
‘Cause Canada, the US, Mexico and NAFTA should change
In order to raise NAFTA to a higher economic range
‘Cause the global economy doesn’t like multiple exchange rates
Or tax and spend politicians putting countries in desperate straits
This is what Europeans suffered for most of their history
‘Till they joined together, got the Euro and stopped the mystery

Spendthrift socialist politicians should bury their pride
‘Cause sovereignty is no good if the currency has died
Left wing propaganda may be great for developing nations
‘Cause it covers the trail of those corruption allegations
And if NAFTA is good and the FTAA will be better
Pay down the national debt and we wont be a debtor
Show some responsibility to improve the whole nation
And recover from this sixty-cent dollar frustration.


Dollarization

by

James Bredin


Canadians often receive lessons from preachy politicians,
Loud Liberals who lack responsibility like drugged up musicians,
Make announcements about the value of the Canadian dollar,
"Doesn’t reflect the underlying fundamentals," they holler.

"The loonie is undervalued and it’s not their responsibility.
It’s the currency speculators," they point, "in all probability,
And the sixty cent dollar will cause impetus for growth."
They sound mighty like a collective lying under oath.

If not the Liberals in Ottawa or Central Bank domination,
Who can we blame for this devaluation misinformation?
Is it not this type of nonsense that contributed to the decline?
Not the currency speculators whom they continue to malign.

These tax and spend politicians refuse all responsibility,
They’re impervious and the Access Act hides their culpability,
As the loonie lost seven percent to the US dollar last year,
And Canadian currency future looks bleak and austere.

The loonie lost thirty seven percent since nineteen seventy one,
And Liberal propaganda can’t prop it up as it’s being undone,
And the national debt has now reached six hundred billion,
And they forgive foreign debts way up in the zillions.

When the Canadian dollar decline drops down to a dime,
‘cause Liberal propaganda will never get it to climb,
Someone should tell the Liberals ‘bout Argentinean frustration,
And in this global economy it’s time for dollarization.


North American Unification

by

James Bredin



The differences between Canada and the US are small,
It’s the same rules for hockey and the same for baseball,
They say multiculturalism and bilingualism are our salvation,
To stop and hold off North American unification.
Therefore proud Canadians should sit still and wait on the veranda,
And listen quietly as the CBC pumps out federal propaganda.
Be proud of the status quo and the Canadian sixty-cent dollar.
Sit down and show respect and don’t ever bother to holler.

Be quiet and wait for that government welfare cheque,
Or the equalization payments sent annually to Quebec,
And never mention the assortment coming in gratis,
Who because of the Charter can claim refugee status.
Be proud because everyone is forced to register their guns,
No Second Amendment, no capital punishment, just CBC reruns.
And as you listen and watch, your teeth you can clench,
Can’t understand one word but forced to listen to French.


Secretive Canadian Parliamentarians

by

James Bredin

Every June parliamentarians heap themselves with praise.
Then they close for the summer and give themselves a raise.
Then the prime minister controls in council as a dictator.
Canadians have no say in the matter -- neither sooner or later.
By the time they reopen in September or October,
The media has forgotten and the long hot summer is over.
Parliamentarians hate questions ‘bout Shawinigan or money,
So Chretien wrote the Access Act, which isn’t very funny.

It is double speak for undisclosed hidden information,
Concealed like their stealthy itineraries or a secret political donation,
All listed in the eight pages of Access Act no-go places,
Which not only dooms democracy but hides their embarrassing cases,
‘Bout the deluge of illegal refugees or the immigration activity,
Or the link between Kyoto Agreement and radioactivity,
Or the little communist virus concealed within the Charter,
No property rights for Canadians, which is seldom read for starters.

And why are those appointed-for-life unique Supreme Court judges?
Never asked questions ‘bout feminists or their special-interest grudges?
And why is the Canadian dollar way down below at sixty cents?
As it continues dropping daily which makes no common sense.
And why are Canadians denied and not allowed binding referenda?
By those who pay billions rather than reveal the prime minister’s agenda.
It’s the same reason that half the lumber industry is now unemployed.
NAFTA was refused cabinet papers and they became annoyed.


Captain Mack's Orchard

by

James Bredin

Captain Mack’s house was just outside the town of Ennis,
With a high-walled orchard and even a place to play tennis,
The captain was old and like the house, from another era,
Even long before the Taoiseach Mister Eamon De Valera.

The walls of the orchard were high for thieves to prevent,
With barred wire and broken bottles embedded in cement.
A thief would have to think twice about scaling those walls.
He could get cut by the wire or the glass or killed in the falls.

Gerry Turpin lived in the Turnpike with his old widowed mother,
Church mice were well fed compared with Gerry or his brother,
He always collected kindling wood from underneath the trees,
In the grounds of the college near the orchard if you please.

Gerry told me about his discovery one day after school,
Stories about the orchard, tales to make a schoolboy drool,
Gerry had climbed a certain tree when kindling wood was scant,
‘cause when you’re hungry and cold there’s no such thing as can’t.

We climbed that same tree where the branches crossed the wall,
Some high branches bend down and we were careful not to fall,
And then we could stand on the wall and hold the barbed wire,
And step lightly ‘round the sharp glass or stitches we’d require.

We still couldn’t see much because of the canopy of the tree,
Gerry showed me the secret footholds as he moved ahead of me,
And slowly we descended down inside the orchard,
If we got caught now we could go to jail or get tortured.

But everything was quiet except the buzzing of the bees,
Another world of apple and pear and even cherry trees,
"This way," Gerry said as he walked along the path,
If Captain Mack saw us now we sure would have his wrath.

He showed me the greenhouse, a place all made of glass,
Even the handle on the door made from highly polished brass,
Hanging from a ceiling vine was scene I had never seen,
Grapes in big bundles so nice and clean and green.

But then the question in my mind, as I tasted our haul,
How many can I carry up the wall if we can escape at’ all.
We climbed out quite quickly but could carry no grapes,
Not when climbing with two hands like Tarzan of the apes.

The house and the orchard have all disappeared,
To believe that it was there now seems kind of weird,
But the memory still haunts me to this very day,
Are the guards still looking or is everything okay?


Canadian Democracy

by

James Bredin

Canadian democracy at the moment is a sham,
And unfortunately Canadians don’t seem to give a damn.
We get an election when the prime minister gets cold feet,
Or the Auditor General’s report is going to bring some heat,
Not because the dollar is doomed and diving towards a dime,
Or the Liberals are spending in the Third World big time.

TV cameras are not allowed to show their empty seats,
And no Liberal needs to show any travel receipts,
‘Bout their travels in Africa or Iran or Iraq,
Or talking with the Taliban or some communist quack,
These Liberals are into pork in such a big way,
Shawinigan the grand example of an ongoing pork buffet.

The Liberals now know they can buy an election,
Purchase provinces or people or their organized section,
With taxpayers’ money they bribe and cover their tracks,
And when asked in parliament they deny all the facts,
No conflict of interest just ask the appointed ethics lad,
Or the appointed Mounty and all the answers are sad.

They tried to call Mount Logan, Mount Trudeau,
And enshrine the Liberal name way up on a high plateau,
This was the man who wrote a Charter of frivolity,
That denied us property rights and lied about equality,
It gave "everyone" rights and that’s every terrorist in sight,
And they’re all lined up at the airport claiming refugee rights.

Liberals appoint senators, avoid term limits or systemic changes,
And act as though nothing is wrong with dollar exchanges.
They appoint without questions Supreme Court guys and gals,
Without election dates or referendums or any rational,
No paying down but increase the horrendous national debt.
It’s multiculturalism and bilingualism and everything for Quebec.

The CBC will tell us all about culture and tradition,
And tell us ‘bout our heritage without asking our permission,
‘cause they have a mandate to pump out Liberal propaganda,
And anything and everything in their in their socialist memoranda,
Canadians need a constitution for the people in the west,
So they can feel represented and no longer feel depressed.


Get Rid of Trudeau's Charter

by

James Bredin

The Charter has been touted as such a terrific thing
Those righteous pious propagandists constantly sing
From their lofty command cubicles high in administration
How Trudeau’s Charter caused our foundation and salvation

We should believe and behave and forget about the flaws
We should applause because it is the basis of our laws
And the Supreme Court will tell us when to breath and what to think
Where left is right and right is wrong and "everyone" is pink

We should never critique it and stick to the status quo
And buy their bilingualism with all our taxpayers’ dough
Though they tell us all we’re equal but Indians are unique
They can claim their treaty rights with our property rights oblique

He wrote the Charter for everyone -- that’s all humanity
It doesn’t mean Canadians - close to communist insanity
Where phony refugees can claim all their Charter rights
With judicial justification to the Supreme Court heights


Excursion to Lahinch

by

James Bredin

The West Clare Railway had an excursion every Sunday
It returned the same day so school again on Monday
The train left at ten a.m. so it was eight o’clock mass
Tickets cost one and nine for that two-way excursion pass
Passengers packed the train in enthusiastic anticipation
Complete families went to Lahinch, that seaside location
The excitement of those times is difficult to understand
But few families in those days could afford to walk the strand

The train went chugging down the track with steam and smoke and noise
The thrill of going to Lahinch was grand for innocent girls and boys
They didn’t know the train was small or the tracks were narrow gauge
To them it was the grandest thing, a theatre of the moving stage
And at Lahinch they could stroll the strand for many many miles
Or go swimming in the Atlantic under brilliant sunny skies
All the days were sunny then, I can’t remember one shower
But I remember the train speeding along at forty miles an hour.


Scarborough Town Center

by

James Bredin


The Scarborough Town Center is the place you should go,

You can follow the flow by subway, car, bus or go slow,

You may meet your mother, your brother or second cousin clown,

'Cause they're already there strolling around and up and down.

Walking by Wal Mart, past the Bay by Sears looking all around,

Many muttering into cell phones trying to look profound,

Some talk in Korean, mothers in Mandarin, sisters in Serb,

While others hurry in silence never speaking one verb.

But you'll hear English and Finish, German, Russian and Greek,

And one or two girls prancing their extraordinary physiques.

In this parade of passing people from all around the globe,

I think I saw a holy man in a strange exotic robe.

And busloads of seniors come from all over Ontario,

Wandering through the food court absorbing this scenario,

Even Americans come to cure their curiosity,

'Cause they've heard of this place and all the generosity.


Canadian International Development Agency

by

James Bredin


The Canadian International Development group,
Like a bombastic Boy Scout troop have gone outside the loop,
Guided by socialist policies of the extreme far left,
Never thinking it might be theft if the taxpayers are left bereft,

Committed like young communists with missionary zeal,
To give billions to foreign deadbeats with obsession surreal,
And announce it on their web page on a daily basis,
Hide those who get these dollars may be dictators or racists.

It’s Canadian taxpayers’ money, therefore it doesn’t count,
From a minister called honorable with a sermon on the mount,
Who make their announcements from exotic tropical locations,
International socialism without calculations or complications.

So called programs, for democracy, modernization or education,
Or maybe earthquakes floods or famines - their socialist salvation,
Or sustainable development where taxpayers would gag,
While these goody-two-shoe politicians stand on a podium and brag.

‘Bout their achievements in places that never heard of democracy,
They hype their hypocrisy ‘bout their bureaucracy and socialist aristocracy.
Never thinking ‘bout the colossal six hundred billion national debt,
And Canadians tax free by September which socialists regret.


Canadian Status Quo

by

James Bredin


Canadians as a whole have never been trusted,

'Cause to change the status quo we could get busted,

We're not allowed to vote for our own prime minister,

Backroom cabals control, organize and administer.

Canadians can't vote for those in the senate,

It's a lifetime appointment for those who can win it,

Nor can we vote for a new governor general,

This systems set in stone granite and mineral.

We're never allowed to change the constitution,

Because those who could, avoid this solution.

Neither can we have proportional representation,

'Cause politicians believe it's bad for the nation.

And binding referendums are never allowed,

Could bring the whole status quo under a cloud.

Political callbacks are absolutely forbidden,

Constituents don't count -- they're always overridden.

It doesn't matter if the politician is a drunk,

Gone out of the country and is doing some junk,

And no term limits means they can repeat for life,

We wait for their election, regardless the strife.

Tax and spend politicians like to travel the jet set,

Never mention the six hundred billion national debt,

And all these travels are hidden by the Access Act,

'Cause they fear how Canadians might overreact.

It's multiculturalism and bilingualism, that's the rule.

And Francophonie policies added to be cruel.

Add to that, welfare and equalization payments,

For phony refugees and all the many other claimants.

They pump their propaganda out by the hour,

Just to make sure they hold on to their power.

There's still one or two journalists who have not been bought,

Still some sanity in a state that's so overwrought.


Another Poem 'Bout Trudeau's Charter

by

James Bredin

Government propaganda holds Trudeau’s Charter high,
Can’t be changed properly though Mulroney did try,
They got the Queen to sign it as if everything was right,
Not for Canadians -- written for "everyone" in sight.

That means phony refugees - Ben Laden if he comes,
Four wives and fifty kids and all those terrorist bums,
Sworn to be martyrs to make us miserable and sad,
Thus Trudeau’s Charter shows just how far we’ve been had.

The document denies us rights to our possessions,
No property rights mentioned -- land or concessions.
It claims equality for all but Indians are particular,
Their Treaty rights are special and extracurricular.

And if they claim an island, a province or a city,
The Supreme Court will bow down and act very witty,
And no one will proclaim the notwithstanding clause,
‘Cause Canadians think Trudeau was close to Santa Clause.

All this is a lesson in how people can be led,
Charter to the garden path leads to communist hell,
The document is flawed in so many many ways,
Is it possible to go back to the pre Trudeau days?


The Canadian-Argentine Disease

by

James Bredin


Canada too has caught the Argentine disease,
Where the government is keen and eager to appease,
Where the dollar is fast closing in on sixty,
Compared to the US dollar even down in Dixie.

They promote payola to the Maritimes and Quebec,
While national debt and dollar advertise we’re a wreck.
Bilingualism pushed by government bureaucracy,
And unions rule with their social aristocracy.

Where welfare and equalization buys power,
They pump out their propaganda by the hour,
With fraternity and equality for all,
And Human Rights tribunals set up in every hall.

Guaranteed jobs and government dependency,
Multiculturalism with communist tendency,
And phony refugees with no immigration control,
Is Canada going down one large toilet bowl?

Why can’t we see the handwriting on the wall?
‘Cause no politician has ever had recall.
How far must we go on this road down to hell?
I just diagnosed the disease now can we get well?


Hey Quebec

by

James Bredin


Unilingual and proud

Hey Quebec, I know why you think Ottawa is great,
With welfare payments to keep those separatists sedate,
Equalization to keep you from pulling your weight.
Is it possible that maybe we could_ maybe _ separate?

That six billion payola payment each year,
Expensive_ those Quebec politicians who cover your rear,
While other Canadians are getting it up to here,
Highest taxed people in the world so I hear.

Why should I feel compelled to go out and learn French?
Heard it on the radio and it makes no sense.
While the dollar is dropping down_ down to sixty cents.
You must think we’re all both dumb and dense.

You still realize that I am really your friend
But you are unilingual while I condescend,
With this French being pushed by the Ottawa trend
In the radio stations of those who tax and spend

I’m just waiting for one politician with the guts,
To look at this system and realize we’re nuts,
To shake it all up and throw out that Charter
That your Trudeau imposed on us for a starter.


Canadian Nuclear Stuff

by

James Bredin

Nuclear power they say is essential,
Like Chernobyl it has certain potential,
Like Three Mile Island -- a near meltdown,
Expensive too but covered by the crown,
And all those nuclear physicists types,
With their AECL propaganda hypes,
Cost taxpayers $billions day in day out,
Like a new religion they have no doubt,
Unfortunately this makes me feel assured,
That leaked radiation may be obscured.
They tell us the CANDU reactor is secure,
No reason for Canadians to feel unsure,
But people who are all that committed,
Could hide flaws that were never admitted.


Trudeau

by

James Bredin

I stood in the crowd when Trudeau was up front,
A small man ‘bout half your size; I have to be blunt,
He used the communist manifesto as his guiding light,
Wrote the Charter for all mankind to socialists’ delight.
Denied Canadians property rights despite the publicity,
Got the Queen to sign on in this giant complicity.
Caused judge-made laws to bypass democracy,
By his appointed friends in Supreme Court hypocrisy.

We became a judicial dictatorship with all the autocracy,
Despotism and Stalinism hidden in bureaucracy,
With human rights tribunals set up in every town,
To force their manifesto they would never back down,
Where no one ever used the notwithstanding clause,
To shortcut back to reality as they changed all the laws,
And Canadians became compliant; no one objected,
Even Quebec that refused to sign; did what was expected.

Trudeau liked Castro and started Canadian deficit spending,
And now we have that six hundred billion dollar bill pending,
He sang the "International" with his communist friends,
Now we’re caught in his Charter trap and cannot make amends,
Chretien wants to change Mount Logan to Mount Trudeau,
Or a scholarship plan so socialists can get more to kowtow,
When Trudeau was prime minister our dollar was worth a dollar,
Now close to sixty cents and heading down to squalor.


CHRETIEN

by

James Bredin

Prime Minister Chretien travels here and there a lot,
Regardless of the cost, he never seems distraught,
He speaks to us in sound bites from very far away,
From Israel or India or maybe Bombay.
And like all Liberals he shouts his good intentions,
While the TV in the Commons hides the abstentions,
But he claims to have our best interests at heart,
Though only Liberals choose him right from the start.

He’ll not change Trudeau’s Charter or the status quo,
As the CBC pumps propaganda Canadians should know,
He appoints all the senators and the high court judges,
His commissioners of ethics and police without grudges,
While these judges change the laws without our consent,
And the others all cement to ensure democracy is bent,
Canadians are not allowed referendums or recall,
We should concentrate on hockey or maybe baseball.

And Shawinigan got more money than the entire West,
No inquiry, no questions and who could have guessed?
And bilingualism is pushed except in his Quebec,
Where they’re unilingual French, so what the heck,
This is the man who doubled the national debt,
While we pay the highest income taxes on earth,
Refugees keep coming and maybe terrorist too,
Claim Charter rights and jump immigration queue.

Chretien will soon tell us he wants to stay for life,
Like Mugabe or Castro - no term limit strife,
No free votes in parliament while he is in power,
Or proportional representation to spoil his hour,
No flat tax or callbacks or even election dates,
No dollarization or amalgamation with the United States,
And CIDA keeps announcing his socialist agenda,
From some far off place on a tropical hacienda.


The Wrong Charter of Rights

by

James Bredin

Canadians never asked for a Charter of Rights,
History had been kind to them under the northern lights,
But socialist politicians had these rights written down,
Got the Queen to sign them with the weight of the crown.

No referendum, no callbacks and no election dates,
No political term limits and they can close all debates,
No proportional representation or questioned high court judges,
‘Bout special interests or prejudices or socialist grudges.

The Charter of Rights gave Canadians responsibility,
For phony refugees and terrorists with all their hostility,
This socialist Charter was written for everyone on earth,
Saddled Canadians with accountability without much mirth.

Everything in the Charter, Canadians already had,
Plus property rights - not in the Charter - too bad.
The socialists stipulated that government would decide,
And appointed judges would point the way and guide.

Canadians accepted that this was the way to go,
Complements of Jean Chretien and Pierre Elliot Trudeau,
No one objected as these politicians had their way,
Taxed and spent and traveled and doubled their pay.

But the dollar dived down, down to almost to sixty cents,
Plus the six hundred billion dollar national debt nonsense,
And the politicians jumped up and said everything’s okay,
These socialists are happy while Canadians are led astray.


The Americans

by

James Bredin

I’m not an American and therefore it’s easy for me to judge,
Though I view them with detachment, sometimes I envy and begrudge,
Theirs is a raging record of up and down - still not yet complete,
I’ve watched them through the years as they struggle and compete,
And as a keen observer from the outside looking in,
Sometimes I feel as though I’m watching close but distant kin,
Who at the World Trade Center got the shock of their lives,
Dead policemen, firemen, mothers, fathers and wives.

The Americans are so many, so different and diverse,
And in a hundred of languages they sometimes converse,
But they all subscribe to the magic of an immense melting pot,
Though they have always nodded and accepted their multilingual polyglot,
No need for government ministries to push pompous propaganda,
Of multicultural special interest types with bilingual memoranda,
American history books are full of bold enterprising ventures,
Since George the General and George the King had their adventures.

Their success has brought them hatred from many strange quarters,
Especially from religious groups that tutor terrorists to be martyrs,
Americans figured out that the Church and the state should be apart,
‘Cause maybe those so-called religious types were not all that smart,
And they went off to war to teach these terrorists retaliation,
Far away in a distant place - in an Afghanistan destination,
Americans have helped almost every other country in the world,
And where are they when needed with all their flags unfurled?

Even the United Nations used pompous extort type talk,
At the Durban Conference wanted billions and the US had to walk,
This is a generous country since way back when they began,
Especially since the Truman policies and the other Marshall Plan,
And four days after Durban, the terrorists struck on high,
And thousands of Americans were forced to instantly die.
I think it’s time the Americans tried not to be so good,
And realized organizations and countries that are just no god-damn good.


Dead-zone Lawns

by

James Bredin

The giant chemical tankers appear in April every year.
Up and down the street they go concerned and sincere,
They spray chemicals and pesticides on our cosmetic lawns,
And those who watch are happy amid stretches and their yawns.

These chemicals, herbicides, and pesticides then all disappear,
But they leave tiny signs on the lawns so there is no need to fear,
With a small list of chemicals - all registered of course,
With the government and politicians and they will endorse.

When these chemicals disappear, they go somewhere else,
Like the winter ice that faded away in the ground -- it just melts,
And the children who play where they poured the chemical soup,
Can’t read the signs, nor can their friends in the group.

Does all this matter or are these chemicals immaterial?
Are they deadly, are they poisonous or are they even bacterial?
It took twenty or thirty years for them to band DDT.
‘Cause it was killing all the birds to no small degree.

How could anything be wrong with all that neat carpet grass?
No weeds, no worms, no honeybees or dandelions to pass?
The government is going to wait for the other shoe to drop,
Like the thalidomide-children connection that maybe this should stop.


Political Civil Servants

by

James Bredin

They call themselves honorable this and honorable that
And minister of this and it’s nothing to laugh at
Amid announcements about their frequent appointments
Of their friends and companions without disappointments

They do this in accordance with their own past practice
Openly and on the web - certainly no malpractice
With advice from their own ministerial advisory committee
Their administrative commission of organizational pity

They designate this individual here and that one there
For Joe jobs with titles and everything is fair
All within the government and legal professions
No whistle blowers here and certainly no confessions

And those who contribute significantly to their cause
Get more money and titles and more applause
They have to pretend that they improve efficiency
And scream out loud if someone shows self-sufficiency


Liberal Immigration Refugee Board Appointments

by

James Bredin

They call themselves honorable this and honorable that
And minister of this and it’s nothing to laugh at
Amid announcements about their frequent appointments
Of their friends and companions without disappointments

They do this in accordance with their own past practice
Openly and on the web - proud and pushy with malpractice
With advice from their own ministerial advisory committee
Their administrative commission of ritual pity

They designate this individual here and that one there
For Joe jobs with titles and say everything is fair
All within the government and legal professions
No whistle blowers here and certainly no confessions

And those who contribute significantly to their cause
Get more money and titles and much more applause
They have to pretend that they improve efficiency
And scream out loud if someone shows self-sufficiency


Canadians never complain

by

James Bredin


There has to be a reason why Canadians wont.
Is it the sixty per cent who vote or the forty percent who don’t?
Is it the conspiracy of Liberals shacked up in Shawinigan?
Pulling their stunts to stay and get voted back in again?
Is it the money they reroute and call it equalization?
To keep regions sedated on a welfare vacation?
Is it the incoming refugees who within three years
Vote Liberal with the other special-interests and queers?

Is it the West who know before they even vote?
They will not be represented and they can’t build a moat.
They could complain all they want but what the heck.
Ottawa is too busy sending equalization to Quebec.
With the fearful fervor that Liberals alone are right,
Like religious fanatics born again and bright,
They will lead us along and no one will complain
Dour dictatorship that views democracy with distain.

And the other secret knowledge that has long disappeared,
Like those twenty two police investigations into HRDC arrears,
Or the lack of referendums or set election dates,
It’s bilingualism and multiculturalism and other Liberal dictates,
They don’t care for callbacks, elected senators or flat tax,
Their travels hidden by the Access Act as they tax to the max,
And Supreme Court appointees dressed up like bishops,
Changing pedophile laws that should make you feel suspicious.


Canadian Supreme Court

by

James Bredin

The Charter of Rights was written by Trudeau in nineteen eighty two,
And the changes that have occurred since then, no one expected or knew,
They’ve changed the laws a hundred times - more than parliament has made,
Parliament turned to a TV pantomime and the people felt betrayed,
But the propaganda of the media said everything was great,
Judges could change the laws and no need for parliamentary debate,
And those MPs who were elected to go to Ottawa and write laws,
Could join committees, travel the world or write letters to Santa Clause.

These judges are secretly selected by Chretien to serve on high,
Dressed up like bishops ‘til they turn seventy-five or die,
And base their decisions on their private Charter interpretations -
No questions, no demonstrations, no deportations or complications,
‘Cause Canadians are compliant - they have been told to obey,
And they would never believe that maybe they’ve been led astray,
‘Cause unlike the Americans, Canadians are not allowed to ask questions,
Of these secretly selected nobodies from nowhere on nobody’s suggestions.

Questions are forbidden ‘bout hidden agendas, policies or homosexuality,
Or connections to lobby groups, feminists, pedophilia or morality,
The policies and laws that they’ve changed are too many to just list,
But any little study will show that someone’s getting kissed,
‘Cause the Charter of Rights is being imposed whether we like it or not,
And Canadians are being allowed to do absolutely squat.
We’re not allowed to notice the flaws in their laws,
And this is all being done by folk dressed up like Santa Clause.


Liberal Manipulation

by

James Bredin

Since 1996 the Liberals created nine private friendly foundations,
And maneuvered seven billion dollars there in interesting donations,
Auditor General Sheila Fraser found this track record very interesting,
That the Liberals should be so blatant unconcerned and disconcerting,
‘Cause parliament can’t inspect or analyze where these billions go,
And the overtaxed Canadians are told nothing ‘bout their dough,
Secretive and manipulative, scheming, with a smell in the air,
Liberal outsource business, Enron-style, to their off-balance-sheet lair.

These foundations are set up to move billions to the proper people,
Quietly, without questions in parliament or shouting from a steeple,
It’s for organized Liberal activists who scream rights for minorities,
Homosexuals, feminists, aboriginals - minorities with priorities,
What the majority of Canadian don’t know is none of their concern,
It’s secretive Liberal policy - nothing parliament should learn,
It’s how they capture votes by manipulation and organization,
And donating taxpayers’ billions to their every foundation.

This is the Shawinigan group sent money to almost every parishioner,
Condoned by the appointed ethics guy and the RCMP commissioner,
A small town that got more money than all the provinces in the West,
Just because the prime minister lived there and no one dare arrest,
This is the HRDC group that just misplaced a billion dollars,
What happened to those police investigations after the Alliance hollers?
This is what Canadians get when only sixty percent vote,
And the forty percent who didn’t vote allow the Liberals to gloat.


Supreme Court Rules

by

James Bredin

The Canadian Supreme Court base their decisions on a charter,
That turns all the laws passed in Parliament into a nonstarter.
They show how these appointed judges can make their own laws,
And pronounce themselves omnipotent amid political applause.

When these appointees are all dress up like Santa Clause,
No prime minister has dared to use the "notwithstanding clause",
Appointees are never questioned ‘bout their vested preferences,
Special interests, prejudices or who made their secret references.

And they are appointed for life - ‘till they turn seventy-five or die,
And their decisions are obeyed just like old Captain Bligh,
‘Cause no one dares to protest - it’s not politically correct,
Canadian could be frowned on if they even show disrespect.

These judges then tell the parliament what is law and what is not,
And politicians may as well go stand out on the parking lot.
They’ve changed a hundred laws while these politicians just watched,
While lawyers nod their heads and show Parliament can be botched.

Dictatorships rely on constant education by the media,
They use newspapers, radio, TV, books and even the encyclopedia,
Eventually a pounded down populace agree that they are right,
And police themselves accordingly ‘cause it’s better to be polite.

This judicial dictatorship does not need parliamentary debate,
No rough and ready democracy - could be slow and irate.
When everything can be centralized and no questioned asked,
While politicians travel the world and corruption can be masked.

People all bow their heads while phony refugees take us for fools,
No one dares to question policy ‘cause the Supreme Court rules,
And the Charter that they read covers "everyone" on earth,
Just obey the rules, shut your mouth and don’t ever show no mirth.


Instant April Summer

by

James Bredin

Instant April summer, please stay!
‘Cause I know you can quickly fade away,
You can vanish swiftly in one snowy day,
And come back for sure maybe in May.

I know that cold winter still lurks and lingers,
Ready to return to me with frozen fingers,
And can come without a moments notice,
And freeze my impatiens and American lotus.


Bow Your Head Towards Ottawa

by

James Bredin

Mainstream media trains us to read and believe,
In strong central government and not be so naïve,
‘Cause they know what is best and they know their truth,
And they repeat it relentlessly to impact the polling booth.

We should all turn towards Ottawa and slowly bow our heads,
And thank them for being so good to us - those tax-and-spend feds,
For sending more money to Shawinigan than the entire West,
‘Cause prime minister lives there -- who could have guessed?

They’re proud to prevent poverty with plenty of their grants,
To brothers and sisters, in-laws and out-laws and aunts,
To owners of golf courses and every other little parishioner,
Okayed by the appointed ethics guy and the RCMP commissioner.

There’s no dilemma in moving money because it’s not theft,
Arranging loans is not stealing of whatever money’s left,
Absolutely no conflict of interest if nothing can be proved,
Especially when the ethics guy and the RCMP approved.

Opposition allegations, they claim, are morally and ethically wrong,
"They’re just jealous ‘cause we got the voters and we’re strong,"
Only forty percent of the sixty percent who voted that’s true,
But in first-past-the-post; that’s all we need - just a few.

They bury behind the myth of the fine federal bureaucracy,
With modest democracy and heaps of hypocrisy pushed by autocracy,
Duplicity and disloyalty, deceit, dishonor and deception,
Moving money here and there is the rule - not the exception

And their media takes their myth and repeats it and repeats it,
It has to have the ring of truth or the professionals would delete it,
You can follow the dollars but there’s nothing you can do,
With their majority in parliament they can just screw you.

There’s no need for an inquiry for dishonest politicians,
They appoint all the commissions to cover their ambitions,
‘Cause your money has already gone to every peculiar place,
For foundations through CIDA, HRDC - there is no disgrace.


Liberals are here forever

by

James Bredin

Canadians have no idea 'bout the date of the next election,
But they do know something 'bout the arrogant Liberal selection,
'Cause they are fed what they should know by a complant media,
Liberals denying they are corrupt using the whole encyclopedia.

Their self-serving slease, secrecy, status quo is surely slow decay,
These pompous prates of patronage avoid change by delay delay,
As they ponder the policies and practices and their poor reputation,
But talk and tax as they tour the world and explain their situation.

In order to change their crooked image they have started a new strategy,
They'll tax and spend and ignore the trend and deny all this lathergy,
And send their bag men to collect for government contract money,
Feather their nest where fundraising is best and it's all very funny.

There's something very sinister in chicanery, cynicism and corruption,
But their majority stops inquiries, forced retirements and interuption,
Holds off representation by population with a low voter turn out,
A split opposition, no binding referendums and lots of voter burnout.

Keep the immigrants coming -- explain their Charter rights,
Have all those refugee-rights acvocates meet all the incoming flights,
They'll all be Liberal voters in only a short three years,
Made Canadian citizens by appointed judges -- no questions no fears.

These perpetual politicians stay forever with no term limit bounds,
A backbench Liberal landed little army -- exactly like it sounds,
No debt reduction -- it's multiculturalism and Francophonie all the way,
And they'll just buy another election with equalization here to stay.


Helen Harpinger was a Hooker

by

James Bredin

Helen Harpinger was a hooker who worked on the track,
She did most of her best work on her knees or on her back.
She had been married three or four times to various guys,
But it never seemed to last when these guys became wise.

'Cause normal guys don't want a hooker to keep as a wife,
They'd prefer someone dependable for the rest of their life,
And Helen was addicted to the lies and excitment of the track,
She had done it for years with those addicted to crack,

She knew more about men than the average encyclopedia,
But this could never get published - not in the public media,
Some wanted to pimp her while others claimed she was in sin,
While her cell phone kept ringing - it was always win win.

Helen had a daughter now who in their lifestyle knew the score,
Her ambition was to grow up and like her mother be a whore,
In their welfare world this was the norm -- a way to survive,
Be an entrepeneur, sell your stuff, pay no taxes and thrive.

Helen was not for sale but she certainly was for rent,
And for a few hundred dollars it was money well spent,
Unfortunately the law did not agree with Helen’s style,
She had been charged several times and had to go to trial.

She paid her fines and did her time and even tried to change,
Found work in a factory but the pay was piss poor exchange,
She could work all day and half the night and hardly pay her rent,
And the government took half that pay -- taxed every hard earned cent.

Helen had the foolish notion that society should change,
But the preachers and the politicians all thought this was strange,
How could they change the laws of this city and this nation?
Just to allow hookers and their johns to partake in fornication?


The Future of the International Criminal Court

by

James Bredin

The judges of the International Criminal Court
Are appointed by their UN friends of course
And never asked whither they love or hate
Dictatorship, democracy, or a police state
‘Bout vested interests, despotism or a jury
Or charging someone from the State of Missouri
Or their relationship with countries that didn’t sign on
Or heterosexual white guys they tend to frown upon

And terrorism is not listed as one of their crimes
But they’ll list it whenever they get around to it in time
Their jurisdiction covers everyone both far and near
They’ve taken it upon themselves to push and persevere
But they cannot push their law without the use of force
And what if they want a US serviceman in due course?
Because the Americans decided that here they don’t belong
Nor do they want a US serviceman to be taken along.


The Failure of the International Criminal Court

by

James Bredin

Canada was a leading advocate in the arrangement of this organization,
To push the Liberal legacy - this UN politically correct formation,
This International Criminal Court should be good for a medal or two,
Their names could go down in history as the ones who stayed true blue.

And those eighteen appointed judges like nothing more than respect,
‘Cause those who appoint them know they’re politically correct,
No need to ask them questions ‘bout their political connections,
Their lobby groups or organizations or who’s giving them directions.

‘Cause they already know the bad ones - surprise surprise!
This international inquisition will investigate those they despise,
No such thing as not guilty - their cases will be all sublime,
These judges will justify their existence dispensing lots of jail time.

And the feminists and special-interests will all celebrate,
Push their pompous propaganda with little or no debate,
And tell the Americans that they too should be involved,
‘Cause the political problems of the world are almost all solved.

But you know the Americans - they’re quite independent,
And concerned that the court might be politically-correct dependent,
‘Cause if the special-interests begin to manage and control,
They could force the Americans to bow and extol.

Eventually in time this court will fall flat on its face,
‘cause their idea does not sit with the whole human race,
This Liberal obsession is an expensive pompous parade,
To push their socialist policies in a legal masquerade.

I hate to tell those who went or ratified the Treaty of Rome,
They would have been better off if they all had stayed home,
This is a boondoggle that is eventually bound to fall,
Stay far away from it, even if you have to crawl.


Wishes For My Sons

by

James Bredin

May you all have healthy and happy lives,
With ladies you like to laugh with as wives,
May all your kids grow big and strong,
And may every one of them all get along.

May you always have a Labrador dog,
That can run with you if you need to jog,
May he also know how to find the way home,
And may you never ever be left alone.

May you point to plants that you have sown,
On good ground that you can call your own,
May the politicians and priests all stay away,
They’re looking for money or else they’re gay.

May you go with your kids with bikes to parks,
And watch your dog as it runs and barks,
May tragedy or truth never make you cry,
All the days of your lives ‘till you’re old and die.