sour lemon

Written by: Milton Toran

a set of old tires,
bald as a turtle's head;
the engine won't start,
'cause the battery's dead!

sank my last dollar,
on this piece of ol' junk;
all it does is rattle,
and go "clunkety-clunk!"

a funky lil' dealer,
in high water pants;
sold me a lemon,
and did a happy dance!

mix-matched panels,
from front to side;
where are the seat belts?
it's almost suicide!

ain't no way in hades,
i'm having a thrill;
this clunker dies out,
when i drive up a hill!

the seats are tattered,
i'm feelin' paranoid;
every time i hit a bump,
i'm pushin' hemorrhoids!

when i'm doin' sixty,
i'm really goin' ten;
i think i'll need a priest,
this car's a wicked sin!

when it comes to braking,
i'm guaranteed to lose;
it's another day at Pay Less,
to replace my worn out shoes!

this car's got more dents,
than an 18th century bed;
when i cruise the neighborhood,
i hide my shallow head!

i pulled up to a corner,
next to a homeless dude;
who held a cardboard sign which read,

he reached into his pockets,
pulled out a load of change;
"take your car to the vet!" he pled,
"i think it's got the mange!"

such a funky lemon,
for now it'll have to do;
beware of the "no credit" dealer,
he'll sink his fangs in you!