Long ago and far away, in a land both vast and free,
Before the days of Bieber or the reign of CBC.
There lived a kinder, simpler folk, and they were you and me,
For Dief was in Ottawa in the land that made me, me.
Where navels were for oranges, and hockey was our game,
Where Rocket ruled the Forum, and every kid knew his name.
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
Paul Anka sang of Diana, and we haven’t heard him since.
We danced to "Alley Oop" and sang to "Stagger Lee,"
And cried when Elvis left us in the land that made me, me.
Only girls wore earrings then, and three was one too many,
And only boys wore crew cuts, except for Auntie Penny.
We never dreamed in all our lives that we would one day see,
A man named Pierre in roses, in the land that made me, me.
We fell for Bobby Curtola, and Anne was oh-so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice.
We didn't have a Trudeaumania Two or CBC On-Demand,
And Burton sang for Hollywood in the land that made me, me.
The Leafs were still a dynasty, and Gretzky wasn’t king,
And "O Canada" was still just something school kids had to sing.
The CN Tower wasn't there, nor Expo ’67,
And Marilyn Bell was swimming, in the land that made me, me.
We’d never seen a rock band that was Tragically Hip,
And airwaves weren’t Rush-ing, nor Shania giving lip.
A beaver was a symbol, a loonie was just slang,
And "Sorry" meant we meant it in the land that made me, me.
We never heard of microwaves or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.
Pumping iron got wrinkles out, and "gay" meant fancy-free,
And Timmy’s served just coffee in the land that made me, me.
We hadn’t seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And poutine was just in Québec, not served in every bag.
Hardware was a box of nails, and bites came from a flea,
And "the patch" was farmland in the land that made me, me.
Snowbanks came up past our knees, our summers seemed to last,
And TV sets had rabbit ears you’d wrestle with for laughs.
Coke came just in bottles, and pop was something fizzy,
And people didn’t always say, "The weather’s been so iffy."
There were no golden arches, no Evian to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill.
Middle-aged was 35, and old was forty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the land that made me, me.
But time, it marches forward, or so we’ve heard them say,
And now instead of Brylcreem, we swear by Rogaine spray.
They send us invitations to join CARP happily,
We’ve come a long way, buddy, from the land that made me, me.
So now we face a modern world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they’re using smaller print in magazines.
And we tell our children’s children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the land that made me, me.