Forget the right change for the BUS and mending the holes in the old SOCKS. Stumble into the corner store, have that first coffee INSTEAD. Barely make it to work on time, take one of those long, fast WALKS. All you can do is ‘dooze’ what you can ‘dooze’, singin’ the BLUES, no way JOSE. You just ‘dooze’ what you can ‘DOOZE.’
All you can do is ‘dooze’ what you can ‘dooze’, singin’ the BLUES, no way JOSE. You just ‘dooze’ what you can ‘DOOZE.’
Remember the proper change, head right HOME. Still no milk in the fridge, cereal still GONE! But there was still some peanut butter and bread and sang a happy SONG.
Our son drove my wife, Rita, to Pearson International Airport in Toronto. Our grandson (almost two years) and I came along for the ride. There was no way this ‘old caboose’ was going to fly and, let’s face it, four days to Toronto and four days back to Vancouver (in other words more than a whole week on the rails), for most modern individuals that concept just won’t ‘fly’. For me, just the experience, winding in and out of the freeway connectors just to get to where the modern planes were, was plain frightening enough. The thought occurred that Lester Pearson himself couldn’t have visualized such a ride, nor John Diefenbaker who was less liberal.