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It weren’t wot tha'd call new when I gorrit,
It weren’t second-hand, burrit were 20-odd years old.
Duz tha know, it's kept gooin’ ever since,
It's been weth it's weight in gold.
Forty years wi’art a spanner on it,
Mind thee, bodyworks gerrin’ a bit rough,
Not quite wot tha'd call showroom condition,
But, if tha dunt get too close, it's good enough.
I’ve never bin able to cure noise problem,
In fact, if owt, it's got wess, especially if I’m around.
It's hard to describe, but, suddenly, for no reason at all,
It will emit this screeching, yelling, nagging sound.
They reckon as it's summat to do wi’ hormones,
Annits a design fault that can never be solved.
Worrever make, model or colour tha gets,
Tha stuck wi’ it, it’s best not to get too involved!
Battery’s gone a bit flat now, lights aren’t as bright as they were,
And there’s a bitta rust round wheel arches.
Burrits still gorra great turn of speed and acceleration,
If tha steers it towards Wilkoes or Bon Marches!
It's developed a bit of a fault on exhaust system,
Occasionally tha’ll get a whiff of escaping fumes wafting around,
Burrall tha’s got to do is oppen windows and say nowt,
To avoid any trouble, ignore it, don’t even utter a sound.
All in all, despite it's age, I’ve bin happy wi’it,
It's gen rait good service, I really can’t believe mi luck.
But wunt life have bin easier if , forty years ago,
It had come wi’ an illustrated, comprehensive
instruction book?!
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