I’m traveling up North, nice putt from our farm
SS Moyie’s aground on the shore here
Tomorrow I’ll rendezvous for a cold Kokanee
In the town rightly proud of its lager

A stop on the way was a recycler’s home
By a Brown builder and undertaker it’s said
Who took roughly a half million embalming bottles
Building materials that were courtesy of the dead

But southward to whistle whetting on Canyon Street
There, after Jimmy’s friends have bid me adieu
I’ll head South and crossover to Pend Oreille County
And my very own room with a view

So tell me, Where am I? What city was where I met friends?



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