I drive two Chevy Silverados. Both have been well used.
You could almost say my Chevy trucks appear to be abused.
But they’re not abused, just older. And they’ve driven out their worth.
Combined the mileage adds to fifteen times around the earth.
I shopped the local dealerships to purchase a new truck.
The price tag is a hair width shy of 80,000 bucks.
So I can’t afford to buy a Silverado off the lot.
I guess I’ll keep on driving the old Chevys that I’ve got.
Each rig is used as backup for the other Chevy truck.
A breakdown always happens right along with my bad luck.
And now the older Chevy isn’t holding up its part.
Sometimes when you turn the key the blasted truck won’t start.
It’s not every time, while cranking, that my Chevy won’t kick in.
I think it has an evil mind, just like the devil’s kin.
We drove the other Chevy and so glad we had two trucks.
‘Cuz if we didn’t have both trucks, we’d be like sitting ducks.
But just as luck would have it I misplaced the good truck keys.
They disappeared about as fast as mice who stole the cheese.
The locksmith ordered keys. He said it takes a week or so.
Then hopefully we’d get our Chevy truck back on the go.
So now we had no choice. The older Chevy was a must.
You don’t drive from hell to breakfast with a truck you cannot trust.
That night while eating tuna fish with peas and cream-style corn,
I heard the Chevy cranking then a blaring on the horn.
Well sure enough the clunker wouldn’t start for my good wife.
I darn near grabbed the twelve-gauge. End the worthless Chevy’s life.
With both trucks broken down we were in dire straits for real.
I must have lost my temper ‘cuz I whacked the steering wheel.
Then I witnessed a small miracle. My Chevy came alive.
Beating on the steering wheel gave me a truck to drive.
Well since that day and when my Chevy doesn’t do its part,
I whack the steering wheel two times. My Silverado starts.
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