A Father's Lament

A young man just turned seventeen was feeling rather glad.
He'd passed his motor driving test in a car lent by his Dad.
And as he put his 'P' plates on, all white and shiny red,
To his latest ladyfriend this is what he said:

"We can roar along the avenue at ninety miles an hour
To hell with stupid speed limits, we'll make the bastards cower.

That car is waiting for to turn, right on that bloody bend,
and twenty patient motorists by double lines are hemmed.
I can't see round the corner but waiting here I am not,
So fingers crossed my dear because we'll overtake the lot.

That ancient truck is in bottom gear, a' creeping up the hill,
And pouring out obnoxious fumes of which I've had my fill.
There's cars a'coming the other way, but we'll go right on past.
They usually pull off the road if you take it pretty fast.

And we'll roar along the avenue at ninety miles an hour.
To hell with stupid speed limits, we'll make the bastards cower.

An old man with his walking stick the road he wants to cross.
Zebra crossings are safe for him where pedestrians are boss.
Or so he thinks the silly fool, but a little game we'll play.
We'll buzz right past in front of his nose and knock his stick clean away.

I love the middle of the night when yanking on the wheel
You make her give a loud backfire as the tyres do a squeal
And you put her down to bottom gear and rev her to a scream,
And people who sleep through all of this must have an incredible dream."

And they'll roar along the avenue at ninety miles an hour
Ignoring all the speed limits, corrupted by the power.

The moral of this simple song is easy to explain.
Youth and inexperience cause injuries and pain.
Rebellious adolescents abide no social rules.
Letting them drive a ton of steel: we're the silly fools.

Don Herbison-Evans ,   donherbisonevans@yahoo.com

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