Things looked pretty bright for the Mashpee Tribe that day.
A mega casino seemed inevitable and only eighteen months away.
Then their luck ran out with Salazar, and Hawaii did the same,
But Cedric claimed a fix would put his Tribe back in the game.
And while the smart money waited for it's ultimate demise,
The casino got less mega till it shrunk to third it's size.
Payments to the town got lost, straining tenuous goodwill.
Enter crazy local drama, then things really went downhill.
So Cedric started scouting out new sites in Southeast Mass.
Pissing off Pocassets, and other folks, en masse.
He demanded that the Governor give his blessing and consent
Or he'd build his slice of Vegas and give the State not one red cent.
Finally, in Fall River, Cupid's arrow hit it's mark
There Cedric's dream of slot machines would replace a Biopark.
Five short months and a lawsuit later, the love affair grew cold
Saddling the city with a future, instead of an industry of old.
Still, the Tribe had a friend in Boston, good old Stanley Rosenberg.
The Senate's go-to man on gambling swallowed Cedric's every word.
He made certain that a Tribe would get first dibs on Region C
Igniting, thereupon, a frenzied reservation shopping spree.
But a deadline loomed ahead, for the land must be taken into trust
Or his sovereign gambling empire would almost certainly combust.
So he promptly settled on a city where he quickly bought the vote,
Two badly negotiated compacts later, and Cedric's heart filled up with hope.
But as supporters got impatient, and as the doubts of critics grew,
The gambling commission felt the heat, and wondered what to do.
So Cedric borrowed a couple million, and made a brilliant TV ad,
To drum up sympathy over pilgrims, and make the MGC look bad.
Now somewhere in East Taunton the sun is shining bright,
A band plays in Middleboro, and in Fall River hearts are light.
And somewhere there are activists who never had a doubt.
Oh... but there is no joy in Mashpee... Cedric Cromwell has struck out.