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With apologies to Robert Service.
Now Jeff Johnson was from Ath’basca and a slick pol’ticker was he.
He assembled with Glenn, five women, six men to take a look and see,
what could be done about these teachers, “I don’t think they’re A-OK.
And most of all, you hear my call, do something about the ATA.”
They rushed ‘til finished, the brief was published, the chair sang, “I’m so excited!”
But teachers saw through, the attack was true, and they responded united.
Five year evals? Remove our princ’pals? You want to split the ATA?
You got it all wrong. We won’t play along. The teachers cried out, “No way!”
Those teachers set out, from rooftops they’d shout, “Down with this awful Task Force!”
They toiled for days, they met MLAs and they talked to parents, of course.
We have to confess, this thing’s a mess, we’re more than just simply annoyed
The solution’s clear, we have nothin’ t’fear, long as this report’s destroyed.
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And off with a jerk, the team set to work, and it gathered the data it could.
But things were hurried, and some rats scurried, so things were left misunderstood.
Surveys, submissions, web consultations, but one meeting sorely missed;
Ne’er once did the fray meet the ATA, to ask ’bout teachers dismissed.
Some boards we tore from the school floor and we lit a boiler fire;
Some gas was found, just lying around, so we fuelled the fire higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared — such a blaze you seldom see;
And into the blast, the task force was cast, much like our muse Sam McGee.
We thought it was done, that it set like th’sun, but these things often come back.
The campaign trails have their secret tales; pol’tics can revive an attack.
The backroom lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest one of course,
Was that time in ’nineteen, when we all seen the Ghost of Johnson’s Task Force.
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