My car was playing up a bit,

Not running like it should,

But the mechanic at the garage said,

As he looked under the hood,

Your gunyon pin’s distorted,

Where it’s mounted to the floor,

And your epicyclic gear train link,

Is rotten to the core,

Your carburettor’s sparking,

Causing flashback to the coil,

And your semi-elliptic leaf springs,

Are both leaking diesel oil,

Well I ask him, “Is it dangerous?

And can it be repaired?”

Well he scratched his chin,

And ran his greasy fingers through his hair,

Saying, “I wouldn’t want to drive it,

Not the way those tyres are worn,

And I think your turbo charger’s,

Shorting out across the horn,

Your light alignments our of sync,

And your brakes ain’t all that smart,

It’s lucky that you brought it in,

Before it falls apart,

Then he pressed those greasy hands down hard,

Upon the nearside wing,

And said, “just as I suspected,

It needs a new suspension spring,

Then he kicked at all the tyres,

And said with some delight,

I think your brake pads wearing low,

And your bearing ain’t that tight”,

Then he said, “Look I mean no offence,

But I’ve really got to ask,

Where did you buy this pile of junk?

I bet the salesman laughed”,

“He must have seen you coming,

From a mile away or so”,

I said, “ I bought it from your showroom,

Just a couple of weeks ago”,

Well his face lost its composure,

But to his credit he thought fast,

And said, “Oh yes now I remember,

It’s from our economy class,

And it’s a bargain that we sold you,

Of course she’s done some miles since then,

And those bargain basement run-a-bouts,

Well there’s no guarantee on them”,

Then he gave a nervous little cough,

And said, “Look I’ll tell you what I’ll do,

I’ll book it in to be repaired,

But it’ll take a day or two,

To sort the fuel emissions,

And weld the rust holes shut,

Replace the worn compression valves,

And the bust McPhearson strut,

The exhaust won’t be a problem,

Or that awful fan belt squeal,

In fact the car will be as good as new,

Except for the nut that holds the wheel”,

I said, “What nut is that then?

Is it the same one that writes the cheque?”

Then I took the jacking handle,

And wrapped it round bloody his neck,

And said, “fix it or don’t fix it,

Because I really couldn’t care”,

You jumped up greasy little toad,

And left him lying there.

By S.E.Ralph