"My home town, Levelplayingfield, Maine..." Metatheses or A Spoonerville Folly: Nonsense in Rhyme

My home town, Levelplayingfield, Maine,
follows Isaacnewtonian rules
(“Ev’ry act prompts an equal and opposite one”),
held in libraries, courtrooms and schools.

We’ve got rest’rants which run in the black
‘cuz their chefs relish cooking the books.
Still, what’s up winds up down (Lev’field’s that kind of town):
Lately, cops have been booking the cooks.

We’ve a truck farmer, potting his plants.
There’s no flora this fella ain’t got.
But our drug laws be changing, and now he's engaging
in happy hours planting his pot.

Our asylum hires men in white coats, 
employed padding the cells of the mad.
Now, in order to amp up the occupancy,
there’s a sales team who’s selling the pad.

Town's hearths are kept spotless by sweeps.
They do windows as well, and sweep floors.
Still, the pittance they’re paid (no paid leave, I’m afraid)
goes to floor the poor sweeps. (Zut alors!)

Our locale boasts its fair share of gamblers
who forever are hedging their bets.
There are some who are addicts, who wager their attics,
and lawns, betting hedges and pets.

We’ve a gym: boxers punching the bag,
partners sparring, palookas – the bunch.
Plus, we’ve one ex-contender who’s been on a bender.
(I tell him, "Hey, Joe: bag the punch!")

At our ballpark, the pitchers fan batters.
This I’ve watched -- season seats! -- from the stands,
where I’ve witnessed, as well (such a sad tale to tell),
horrid hooligans batt’ring the fans.

And, of course, we’ve a local Don Juan.
who would buss every miss that he could.
But, though urged to leave town, this Lothariol clown
opts to miss ev’ry bus out the ‘hood.

We’ve a pest-control service as well. 
At espying out rats they're first rate.
We’ve the Lev’field Security Agency, too:
Good for ratting out spies. (Finks we hate.)

I to all who’d hold office in Lev’field:
"Toss your tam in the ring! Weigh a run!"
(Although all those who do, once elected (too true!)
run away with our treasury mon.)

We’ve a theater: I edit scripts,
play some parts, break a leg with the cast.
And a graveyard, okay? ‘Cuz departing the play
is the exit all must make at last.

Levelplayingfield, Maine -- my home town.
Under Isaacnewtonian Law,
ev’ry yin yields its yang. Yet, excuse my harangue:
one such backass burg never you saw!