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So you've got rid of your Boxer, sorry, Boxter,
They're just for Christmas presents, after all?
Treated yourself to a new pup, sorry Porsche,
All it took was please sign here and a quick call.
Perhaps poor Boxter's out there in the cold now,
Chained up to some firm's forecourt in the frost,
Little headlights might contain salt water,
Looking all abandoned, sad and lost. Ah!
Oh, how could you, Mr May,
treat that little cur/car this way!
You only had to say, dear Maid, please take him,
And treat him kindly now he's past his prime.
I would have shown him love, not AC/DC,
And his innards full of detris was a crime!
I'd have taken him long runs in clement weather,
And kept his coat all glossy with a sheen,
And kept him tucked up warm inside my garage,
I'd never, ever, ever treat him mean.
And when I knew that it was rust to dust time,
When he had to meet the 'breaker in the sky',
I'd stay with doggy Boxter 'til the crush came,
Then I'd probably walk home and have a cry.
Yes, every cur/car will have his day,
A tomorrow? - not with Mr May!
