It's winter here in Canada, four feet of effing snow,
Way too much to plow, and way too much to blow,
Equipment's acting wonky; fix one thing, another breaks,
And as soon as all the snow is cleared, behold, here come more flakes.
Of course I do love Canada, eight months of the year,
But those four months of winter, I could stand not being here.
I could see the snow in pictures, and say "It looks quite grand,"
From a sandy beach down south, with a glass of rum in hand.
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