Now this is a chilly tale about how my life was shut down like a snow day
And I would like to take a minute, just sit right there,
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince of the Cold Air.

West Canada born and raised,
Tim Horton’s is where I sipped coffee most of my days,
Chilling, maxin’, relaxin’, the weather real cruel,
Playin’ some hockey in the rink by the school.

Then a couple of hosers, who were up to no good,
Started makin’ trouble behind my line, in my ‘hood.
I got in one little hockey fight and the ref suspended me with three penaltys,
The crowd cheered, “You’re worse than the Toronto Maple Leafs!”

Game ended, I whistled for a cab and when it came here,
The license plate said SLUSH and had frost upon the mirror.
Heavy winter salting had left the rusty body in despair.
I said, eh homes, roll up the windows, it’s cold out there!

For maximum effect, I have arranged these sick beats to accompany while you rap these lyrics with all your buds in the Tim Horton’s drive-through.

I began this from thread of comments on Reddit. I changed nearly every word and pushed the boundary of basic Canadian stereotypes to plain ol’ offensive misconceptions.