Regal, Burgundy and Grey
I hear the rumbling of povertys approach.
Nothing in the budget for the Midas touch.
Faith is the only hope left for the clutch.
My hometown just suits her fine.
Exceed the limits and surely,she'll flash her dash with a warning sign.
I use her and abuse her and I'd dump her in a minute.
But I hope and pray she don't die on me every time that I get in it.
Like any poor old girl, she rides a little lower.
So I watch real close for bumps, and I drive a little slower.
She does me no favors when a girl per chance, I'd meet.
Which explains,why the only salvage left is her just like new back seat.
I remember when I first got her, someone kicked her in her side.
So I did a do it yourselfer to show the world my foolish pride.
I don't know how much more that she can take.
She'll still get up and shimmy.
But only when I step on the brake.
Like me,she's a little worse for wear.
I guess that's what happens, when you don't have some one to care.
But keep us fed and shoes on our feet.
100 to 1, with our last breath,the odds we'll beat.
For cruising's what we're both meant to do.
We might both be getting a little thinner on top.
But neither of us want to surrender or ever stop.
I wrote this many years ago, before things took a turn. But life goes on, ain't it funny what we learn. <3 :)
For the Old Jalopy Contest
July 19, 2019
Copyright © Robert Johnson | Year Posted 2011
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