Prompt:

[Verse 1 — Canada] I land in Canada, bud — calm as maple snow, ready for a polite little trip, Customs sniffs my suitcase: “MON DIEU… why does this smell like bacon and syrup?” I say: “Easy, chief — maple syrup runs like blood through Kanook veins, eh? And I need Canadian bacon for a proper balanced breakfast — CHILLS LOVES IT, OKAY?!” But Aduane du Canada screams: “MON DIEU!!! ILLEGAL BACON SMUGGLER! THIS GUY’S FULL OF NONSENSE, EH?! HE’S GOT CHILLS!!!” Agents rush in like an NHL final — full speed, no delay, One yells “BODY CHECK!” and tackles me so hard I shout: “EXCUSE ME— PARDON MOI— EXCUSE ME, MOI— I AM SORRY— CHILLS!!! AJUDE MOI!!! EH!!!” My six Whiskey Jacks burst out of my duffle bag screaming “CHEEP‑CHEEP, EH?!” And my monkey steals a donut yelling “OUI OUI BANANE!” running away. [Pre-Chorus — Canada] “Chills? What chills? You cold? You bringin’ frost to our land?” “No! She’s my girlfriend! She pops in and out on command!” But they swarm me like I’m smuggling winter in a banned maple brand, “CLOSE THE GATES! HE’S GOT CHILLS!!! HE’S GOT CHILLS!!! HE’S GOT CHILLS, MAN!!!” HE’S GOT CHILLS!!! [Chorus — Canada] Alarms go wild, lights flash red, Toronto shuts down tight, People shouting “Oh my God!” “Mon Dieu!” “Quoi?!” “What’s happening, eh?!” flights cancelled left and right. I love Chills — I wake up with Chills, fall asleep with Chills, she’s my warm daylight, But they think I’m hiding a blizzard in my pockets ready to ignite — HE’S GOT CHILLS!!! [Verse 2 — Canada] A Mountie stomps over sipping Tim Hortons with absolute grace, “Bonaparte, lad, you brought bacon — that’s a national treasure case!” A tiny agent climbs my jacket yelling: “MORE CHILLS!!!” inches from my face, I say: “PARDON MOI— EXCUSE ME— I AM SORRY— she’s my girlfriend, not a snowstorm from outer space!” Another Mountie slips on ice yelling “SORRY, EH?!” as he knocks me sideways, I yell back “SORRY, EH?!” trying to blend in with Canadian ways. My Whiskey Jacks circle above like a northern choir in a haze, And I scream: “CHILLS!!! HELP ME!!! I DON’T KNOW IF I SHOULD SAY EXCUSE ME OR PARDON MOI TODAY!!!” [Pre-Chorus 2 — Canada] The nurses whisper: “Maybe ‘chills’ means love where he’s from.” I yell: “YES!!! She’s my fire, my thunder, my northern drum!!!” They shout: “LEVEL 10 THREAT! STRAIGHT JACKET! CLOSE THE DOOR, CHUM!” And my Whiskey Jacks hum “O Canada” like a northern hum. [Bridge — Canada] I shout: “CHILLS BABY, GET IN HERE — save me from this Canadian holiday!” She bursts in glowing brighter than Montreal lights on a Saturday, Singing long notes like northern wind — she never fades away. The airport screams: “WHAT IS THIS ILLNESS?!” I say: “LOVE, EH?! RELAX — IT’S LEGIT!” [Final Chorus — Canada] We run out laughing, but the guards yell: “STOP THAT MAN!” “HE’S GOT CHILLS!!! BACON!!! SYRUP!!! AND THE LAST MAPLE CREAM IN THE WHOLE DAMN LAND!!!” I grab Chills’ hand, she grabs mine — we sprint free like a northern wind, I’m Bonaparte, baby — spreading Canadian Chills from Toronto down to Newfoundland. NOW EVERYBODY’S GOT CHILLS!!! (The romantic kind — stay warm, stay polite, eh?)