Untitled

One Last Time

Bruce McLeod, the wagon driver, since time almost began,

Thirty years he served with us, the measure of this man.

But yesterday, he went ten-seven, for one final time,

He retires from this life of, the taxi man for crime.

Some men think him psychic, for when checking out some dive,

Almost before you called him, Bruce would soon arrive.

He was always there when needed, except when working nights,

That's when Bruce would use his sick time, avoiding all the fights.

When Christmas trees were needed, Bruce brought in a load,

On a trip to Cedro Wooley, that's a long way down the road.

A fine figure in a uniform, when he's fully dressed,

With his jacket fully buttoned, his pants all neatly pressed?

Some say when he turned in, his tie and issue hat,

Neither one showed signs of wear, in the locker they both sat.

The uniform may make the man, but Bruce comes out above,

He's our favourite wagon driver, the man natives love to love.

Legends come and then they go, but most you can't recall,

But Bruce will be remembered, from skid road to The Mall.

By all who called the wagon, and those who took the ride,

Those from communications and others from inside.

Bruce has now retired, to go fishing up the coast,

We hope you catch the big one, and then come back and boast.

With his final broadcast, Bruce said it all and more,

Alpha Six-Three, Ten Seven, then he headed out the door.

PC 664 T.J. Gowdyk 89-05-13 (64)