Sour Lemon
one set of bald tires,
slick 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,
"clunkety-clunk!"
a funky shrewd dealer,
wearin' high water pants;
sold me a lemon,
then did a happy lil' dance
mix-matched panels,
from front to side;
where are the seat belts?
it's almost suicide!
too bad i ain't in hades,
'cause i'm havin' a chill;
this clunker dies out,
when i drive up a hill
the seats are worn and tattered,
i'm feelin' paranoid;
every time i hit a bump,
i'm pushin' hemorrhoids!
when i try to do sixty,
i can only reach ten;
i think i 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;
holding a sign that read,
I'LL GLADLY WORK FOR FOOD
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 shady dealer,
he'll sink his fangs in you!
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