I hate Winnipeg. And the Bombers.

Late afternoon, another day is nearly done.
A darker gray is breaking through a lighter one.
A thousand sharpened elbows in the underground.
That hollow hurried sound
of feet on polished floor,
and in the Dollar Store
the clerk is closing up,
and counting Loonies, trying not to say,
The driver checks the mirror, seven minutes late.
The crowded riders' restlessness enunciates
that the Guess Who s.uck, the Jets were lousy anyway.
The same route every day.
And in the turning lane,
someone's stalled again.
He's talking to himself,
and hears the price of gas repeat his phrase:
And up above us all,
leaning into sky,
our Golden Business Boy
will watch the North End die,
and sing "I love this town,"
then let his arcing wrecking ball proclaim,

-the Weakerthans

theyve been playing this song out here in winnipeg on power 97

They are a winnipeg born band.