My neighbour’s car sounds like
A fart in a sewer.
Sure, it’s some souped up thing,
A hot hatch driven by a hot headed
But whenever it pulls up
It sounds like someone’s let one go.
He’s ever so proud with his shiny thrusting thing,
Washes it on Sundays wearing his
Backwards baseball cap
Slyly fondling it’s
Intricate spoilers and twin chrome exhausts
But the moment he starts it up
It sounds like someone’s guffed.
It’s a metallic hollow tube
It sounds like a follow through
He’s compensating for something
Cos the bonnet’s very long
He drapes a chamois over it
So that it sparkles in the sun.
Yet the moment he starts it up
I just want to laugh.
The other day he spent all afternoon
Adding yet another spoiler
Because you need as much aerodynamic force
As you can muster
In the cul de sac.
It’s got so many spoilers
Attached to its rear
When he revs the engine
It sounds like diarrhoea.
I don’t want to spoil his fun
And act like some kind of boobie
But he’s out there in broad daylight
Proudly polishing his Scooby
The look on his face is one of pure bliss
I imagine the pride that it brings
It’s almost obscene the love he gives
To that inanimate thing.
I suppose he’s never been outside of it
So he doesn’t really know
When he’s bombing along the bypass
With its turbo all aglow
Sure it’s nifty and nimble with
Every souped-up improvement
But at the end of he day it sounds just like
A painful bowel movement.