“For sale, only one very old careful owner & very
well cared for car”,
Said advertisement, put into the local paper by my
cheeky old Grandpa,
“Gramps, you can´t honestly advertise that clapped out
old junk,” said I,
With a twinkle, Gramps said, “Of course I can, they´ll
flock up here to buy”.
Having never-ever got his driving licence to be on the
roads to drive,
Grandpa never ever got caught & is considered
lucky to still be alive,
Using his vehicle as dumpster& tractor, moving furniture
& trapping furs,
Avoiding speed traps, policemen & paying fines for
all these many years.
This old jalopy had seats that jarred & stabbed
& hurt your ass to the bone,
With every bump in the rutted road, you could feel
every spring with a groan,
Holding on with knees behind your ears, you tried hard
to ignore the cramps,
But the old red jalopy was a Ferrari no less-& the
love of his life to my gramps.
Jalopy´s old red rusty bodywork had been hard worked
& even harder spanked,
The old engine only started when it was sworn at,
kicked & manually cranked,
Gramps said the reason he was selling “Old red” &
the only thing in life he liked,
Was because, aged eighty five, the time was right to
buy a big fat Harley bike.
So in went the ad for the old red jalopy, which
belonged to my wicked old Gramps,
Cranking, rattling, peeling & stinking, sure to
give you vertigo & very painful cramps,
“Please all you good people who read this, for your
own good, I beg you not to buy,
Gramp´s best
old red jalopy, (of only one old careful owner), unless you want to die.
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