Lampin’ in Lambton

I was born on the wrong side of the tracks, it’s not a song of pride, just a fact, Sarnia south side, where big mouths reside but know how to act. Some people just have a dark view, Learned this early in in person, When someone burned down Parkview my school in grade two. Arson - A new word for future parson Who’d a knew, innocence the loot larsoned, Intense memories like the soot that darkened the walls as we walked down those halls for education. Likewise, I recall my introduction to First Nations. It was a weird world war to be born in, torn by hatred. For certain, as they circled around my bike looking to hurt ’n pound me in a fight I didn’t pick or like - I took the strikes. Felt sick, didn’t realize how ridiculous it fit the plight they were dealt with - till tonight. Dudley George, the gipper lost his gift of life at Ipperwash, the same place we’d dip and watch the Big Dipper mosh after dark with other constellations. Cops tossed us out of the park in consternation. Camping crew grew too rowdy on May 2-4 Cold lampin in Lambton, ‘Howdy, what may we do you for?’ (Chorus) We’re lampin in Lambton, We cold cold lampin. Rockin out to Peter Frampton. This ain’t Brampton or the Hamptons Knockin foxes out like Samson Watching “What’s Happening” I thought nothing could beat rappin, some fell into the trap of clapping for street scrapping. Strapping Gz sippin whisky mickeys in the parking lot of Mickey D’s, like barking dogs, picking fights with strictly these five knuckles, till one of the guys talking jive buckles. Nighty night honeysuckle, with any luck you’ll not remember the truck that struck with such muscle. Just another typical Centennial Bay Canada Day, Busted big brothers dusted by little men will say, “Yo bro owes me damage pay!” Didn’t know about mr. short stout, our bout champ hey. But that’s just the south camp’s way. Let you run your mouth amped before the slay. The real shocka was learning that my papa was king of the street knockers before the Spirit rocked him. A friend’s dad, who jocked hockey, told me jocularly that it ended sad, spectacularly, for three senseless lads who talked pops into fighting them all at once. Dunces without hunches, each punk was dunked by a bunch of punches. It’s weird, before lil seer appeared, dear dad was feared by peers, they steered clear. Guess he was greaser who pulled a Caesar on any geezers who teased em … until Jesus seized him.