It is good to live in Plante-City.
Hello-Hi! What’s going on today?
Nothing. The orange cone is blooming, we ride in Bixi.
Still Valérie smiles, but let’s wait until midnight.
Sleep in peace good people, Valérie reigns.
No need for the police, everything is fine, everything is going well.
What ? In the middle of the street a few bullets are whistling? How ? A knife attack by impulsive thugs.
Bandits, scum, vermin! We are not in the Wild West!
You will see that Valérie cannot be outdone.
You’ll soon hear us sing hello police !
Because our Valérie will have to get tough
He will have to open the coffers and take out the money,
this beautiful money that she would have liked to pay so much
social workers, rather than the police.
O Valérie, knight without fear and without reproach,
your city is not only festivals and bamboche.
Mafiosi and hired killers circulate in the city
committing their misdeeds unmolested.
The good people are beginning to have had enough of it.
He fumes, and you, offended, try to justify yourself.
You burst out going so far as to say you’re fed up,
that it’s the bad media that scares the world.
It’s the Fed’s fault, ask him to answer for it.
Go and see in Quebec, they have to help us.
Nevertheless, it plays the trigger in Plante-City.
The passionaria will have to put its ideology on hold,
and with his good supportive friends, review his copy.
Street gangs don’t care about the militant left
They swear by good-sounding species.
Fine egalitarian speeches do not shake them.
They have their own code and live by their laws.
Plante-City needs a sheriff, not a worker.
The man in the situation is called Valérie Plante.