Thank you to Toronto Girl for becoming my 97th follower. I don't know who you are, but we are united in being Toronto Girls. Here's my special poem of gratitude for joining the hay ride:
Riding the Gravy Train
Springtime in Paris,
Autumn in New York,
London's lifeblood is the Thames,
Memphis has pulled pork.
There's one town yet, that has it all -
Mystery, love, and pain.
It's pre-Rob Ford's Toronto
When we rode that gravy train.
Those were our salad days.
Money flowed in all directions
Big bucks for parades and performance art
And funky buildings - concrete erections.
And then the garbage strike came.
Cottage cheese thighs rode their bikes to the park
For a dip that was all in vain.
The pasty masses just wanted to tan by the chlorine fresh pool,
Instead, a miasma of maggots and fermented meat juice greeted them.
The vitriol flowed - the angry drool.
Big Bobby came charging in from the West.
He'd heard about the city so smelly.
He declared that the party was over.
He pulled hard on the reins and said, "Whoa Nelly."
He puffed, "This gravy train must come to an end -
David Miller will never be my friend."
So here we are all dressed for a play
That will never be staged.
But the taxpayers got their respect
And felt a little less enraged.
As for our future, it's hard to say.
Perhaps it's not the time to vent.
Yet it's hard not to think
That Anvil at Rock 'n Roll Heaven will soon be a cultural event.
Alright Toronto Girl,
Here's a golden nugget of Toronto-cana from the vaults of time.
Now bust out the leg warmers and party.
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