A Sick and Dangerous Place

A Sick and Dangerous Place

By

James Bredin


Where unwed mothers and fatherless boys like to lurk,
Gunshots in the night where no one ever goes to work,
So politically correct but out of control,
And the few apprehended are mostly on parole.

And it’s the cops who are at fault in this social struggle,
Badgering and bossy in this booming boondoggle,
Wearing guns and sticks and vests and other things,
But merely powerless observers, these uncrowned kings.

It was Trudeau’s Charter written by him from Quebec,
Meant more fatherless babies and a bigger welfare check,
Where everyone has rights to do anything they like,
Have a demonstration, a race riot or a strike.

Of course you don’t know because you’ve never been told,
About the bill of ghetto goods you’ve been sold,
They want a high level meeting with those on welfare,
They want to open the jails and fly on a wing and a prayer.

And as the people ponder this unholy mess,
Watch it on TV and read it in the press,
No referendums, no recall and no set election dates,
Numbed by guns, bullets, bodies, knives and no real debate.

Blame the cops and the gun makers they stress,
-- Not criminals or the political process,
Not pompous politicians with canned evasive answers,
In a sick society with undiagnosed cancers.


Sunday, April 23, 2006