Ottawa Festival Season (A Chanson in She-Minor)

In Ottawa down by the river
There's a season for every receptacle:
One for hunting of deer,
One for chugging of beer,
And there's even a season for festivals!

Yes, even a season for festivals!
They call it the "festival season"
And the sum of its content
Is more wished for than wanted
(If that statement aligns with good reason).

Let me clarify: here one can see
All the subcultures out in full armament
And though different in taste
They have one common base,
Namely love for loud aural bombardament.

Nor is this just strictly for young'uns;
One can see large contingents of ladies
In their baby boom larking
Scanning widely for parking
And their youth (which they lost in the 80's).

As for flavour, the tastes vary wildly:
Some like "blues", some like "folk", some like "rib"...
But however inspired
There are two things required
For all fests: some wet-naps and a bib.

Though the festival names are all lame
The music is far from the lamest:
Bluesfest booked the Wu-Tang,
K. Lamar's in that folk thang;
They say Riff-Raff is hitting up chamb-fest.

But the cherry on top of the pie
Is that wonderful piece de resist...
Our big celebration
For the birth of the nation
Canada Day! (...or St. Jean Baptiste!)

Ah what an amazing four months!
To see them pass by is a bummer.
All the singers done singing!
All the bongers done binging!
Do you remember when that was called "summer"?

I remember when that was called "summer",
But no need for nostalgia or mourning!
We'll preserve it forever
Without need for a sever
Thanks to Instagram -- and global warming!