Honourable sir: Dear Mr. Hodder,
Maybe you'll think me one big bother
But pretty soon, I strongly urge you
Please get that road down through to Burgeo.
If you don't without a joke sir,
You will lose the popular vote sir.
And with it too, your lush position
For not being so good a politian.
Got something the matter with your motor?
You seldom come to see the voter
Don't pat our backs when comes the election
If you don't back our road connection.
There's poor old John, he lacked ambition
Now in Fortune Bay he's snugly sittin
But he'll get the road to Harbor Breton.
The Mayor, he's not interested
With two Federal plums he's snugly nested.
Won't be surprised if any minute
He rides in gravy to the Senate.
And Doctor Joe, like bunny rabbit
Jumps all about in one crazy habit.
His trigger finger, how it itches
To cut the tapes and pull the switches.
But down to Burgeo it's a different story,
He treats us like we're rotten Tory.
And it's plain to see he lacks the urge to
Come hopping down the road to Burgeo.
The road to hell I may but mention
Is stoutly paved with best intentions
The devil doubles up with laughter
When we fail to get the road we're after.
Ex Burgeoites, a mighty legion
Are scattered wide in far off regions,
Their urge for home must be forgotten
With a coastal route to stinky rotten.
In sixty six and sixty seven
The back home trend won't be heaven.
Each mother's child will have the urge though
To roll right home to dear old Burgeo.
A road, we know, must bring it's vices
But with it too comes lower prices.
For need I say you must know well sir
Our cost of living is way to hell sir.
Maybe my ditty will make you angry,
And with nasty words you'll devil dang me.
But I don't care, I'll keep on naggin
For room to roam in a horseless wagon.
Most folks right now are loudly raving,
For a modern road of concrete paving.
While we poor souls can't even travel
On a poor man's road of plain old gravel.
For Burgeo road they've got no money
By gosh that's awful kind of funny.
The Curtis causeway hell flames showy
You buck right up and see our Joey.
Now what the devil is the good ah
You acting like a smiling Buddah.
We ask, next time the house is open
You stand right up and be outspoken.
Jump to your feet and shout and holler
Grab Honourable Jones by his shirt collar,
Stand on your head in mad condition
And resurrect our road petition.
And don't forget the folks in Ramea,
Who lustily sing "Rule Britannia"
A ferry stout for them we urge you
To tie in with the road to Burgeo.
Next thing you know we'll tell our story
To Diefenbaker, big fat Tory.
And when he let's out his mighty BOOM sir
POOF, POOF, You're gone to OUTER DOOM sir.
  Billy Cossar (1965)