Mission Bean


May 1998

A little boy I was, just lost my home

So the mission took me in, so I wouldn't roam

A hair cut, a bath, new shoes on my feet

Plaid shirt & coveralls, that was my beat

Up in the morning, fall down on my knees

Pray to the Lord the right way I see's

Off to school after porridge, lard and bread

Trying to pound math and Catechism in my head

Never too brilliant was I in school

But serving the Altar, I was no fool

Our Father which art in Heaven, Amen

I could 'cite that backwards - in Latin

Yes, a little boy, lost with no mom or dad

In the third year there, I became a "Wetbed"

They swatted my bum with a big black strap

The backside of me should be a horizontal crack

Yes, I would jump and jig and howl in pain

Then fly in a tub, hoping the Nun had right aim

Sometimes the tub's faucets would bang on my head

But that was the downfall of being a "Wetbed"

Now it's 5:30 a.m. and we're off to pray

Three times on Sunday, that was the way

The Nun like my mother, the Priest like my dad

With guardians like that, who could go bad

The mission was army, we walked two and two

Discipline was the order, what else could they do

Some missions were good, some were bad

Those who suffered, I feel real sad

I have words for those who dwell in self pity

That's not the answer, just say "tough titty"

The $350 million we got to cure decades of scars

The Vultures will get most of it to buy new cars

They'll travel all over, eat up the fund in time

The victims of missions will not see a dime

For those of us left, not yet in our coffin

These wise words, you will hear often

Lift your chin high and proudly walk on

Keep a smile on your face,

like the sun always shone.


- The Mad Trapper, (Fred Stevenson), Kinuso, Alta.