Rust Box
My first car was a maroon Hillman Avenger, like the one pictured. It was the most unreliable piece of machinery. It was nothing but trouble.
Rust Box
A wheel at each corner held together with hope and a prayer
A rust box disintegrating faster than I lost my hair
In rain hale snow it never wanted to go
Reluctant as a Yorkshireman paying for a beer
A constant battle to keep straight and steer
Gripping hard, knuckles so white
Muscles flexed to turn it right
It rattled and rolled it jangled my change
Fragile nerves it would rearrange
Building up speed like a granny at a zimmer
It’s wafer thin tyres couldn’t get much thinner
Coppers would stop and beg me , go quicker
Ignoring on my lap the bottle of liquor
Handling on ice was almost obscene
Pirouetting faster than Torvill and Dean
A challenge a gradient greater than one percent
Was like being covered in treacle and buried in cement
But when the road fell away and faced an abyss
I would kiss St Chris and emit some piss.
Plastic seats sweaty and sticky
Couldn’t extricate bum after a quickie
My heroes were my friends at AA
Driven to drink trying to get it to play
Looking back the bloody thing sucked
It should have given me my freedom
But it was totally fucked.
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